I'm looking at our little yellow pet parakeet as it's striding along it's tiny metal cage. It's hopping up and down plastic tubes painted just to look like branches. Not like this poor guy has ever even grasped a real wooden branch with his scaly bird feet before. Never tasted the fresh air and sunshine outside. Never spread his wings to fly high up into the skies. Shit, that's probably the best part of being a bird, even he's been robbed of that. Robbed of his freedom. But no, he's singing and chirping along, happily rolling around in his own poop. He doesn't know about the world outside. All he knows is his cage.
We all have our own cages, whether we're aware of that fact or not. Be it our cozy homes , our comfortable beds or our same close-knit group of friends, our cages are all around us. They keep us safe. They keep us sheltered. Our sanctuary when the big bad world out there doesn't seem to work in our favour anymore. We crawl into our cages. crawl in and wait out the storm. But the storm never dies, it never fades. The world is always going to hurt you, so you stay inside your cage, never braving the cold outside.
I had a cage once, oh, and what a lovely cage it was. I holed myself up in this cage for such a long long time. Sometimes, I still wonder what I could've done with all that time, all that good time put to waste. For the first two years of my high school, I spent at least four hours a day gaming. Mom never knew, she thought I was doing schooly things or sleeping off the morning, like every good little boy does. In reality, I was spending all that time playing DotA.
Believe me, I wanted to stop. I knew it was wrong. I wanted to get out there and do something useful with myself, like join the athletics team or get involved in school activities. But I guess I wasn't willing enough, I guess I just didn't have the balls, I was a little bitch. In my defence though, I was having a pretty hard time in my life. My acne started acting up, and my self-esteem was at an all-time low. So I turned to this virtual world, this virtual world where I could destroy my enemies and said I was a 'pro'.
Like a serial killer on a murderous rampage, I killed all my time away for a good year and a half. I got caught eventually though. Needless to say, I got into real big shit because of that and I doubt my parents ever completely trusted me after that. Their trust for me shattered, and it took me a long time to gain it back. Even though I played less, it was still there, right up until I left for Germany. Even on the eve of my SPM exams I still went to cyber cafes to satisfy my needs. It was THAT strong.
It was like a drug. My drug. It was my escape for the harsh reality of the big bad world. It was my escape from the big exams, condescending teachers, non-chalant friends and just plain stress. It's one of those :" Fuck it, everything's screwed anyway, so why even bother? " kind of thing you know? Even in school, the only topic we could bring ourselves to talk about was about last nights' game or if there were any upcoming cool games. I craved it. I needed it. Thankfully, not anymore.
And it worries me to think that I was one of the lucky ones. I had a kick-ass mom who was strict enough with me to do what's necessary. Sure it was stressful that I hated her most of the time. Sure it was probably easier to just let me play away at the computer for 8 hours a day. I'd create less of a fuss that way anyway. But no, she stood by me, even though I never did realise it. She did what's best for me. What's best for my future. Love you for that, ma. But what about the others? The others still locked away in their comfortable cages?
Computer games are only the tip of the ice-berg. What about the things that go unseen? What about those kids who spend 10 hours a day checking Facebook, and still think it's completely fine? Now, I'm not some idealist whose hell-bent on changing this world by ridding it of these things. No, I've given up being the hero a long time ago. In this world where no one wants to be saved, a hero is no longer welcomed. Maybe it's meant to be this way. Maybe we'll be stuck in our cages forever. And when we finally grow old and lay on our death beds, maybe then we'll finally look out the window and see the world outside. The world we missed.
Swaying left and right on a rocking hammock, I'm looking at the clear blue sky above. The sound of running water and chirping birds are drawing me closer and closer into sleep. But no, I can't sleep now, not yet. I need to think about this. Think about the people here. They baffle me, and I don't like the idea of sleeping when something out there is baffling me. Especially when they're everyday normal People. Everday normal people doing something extraordinary. No, sleep can take a hike for the next week. I've got a week of discovery to make.
To be honest, I had no idea what to expect of this excursion when I shuffled off that bus with my 200 pound rucksack filled with shit I probably didn't need. Frankly, I was pretty pissed at how I didn't get my first choice. A bike tour over 3 different countries sounded a whole lot cooler than cultivating mushrooms in a forest. Well, six days in a forest didn't sound too bad either, I could use some time to just rest and relax. I pictured it'd to be 6 days of laying on grass and just chilling out next to a warm fire at night burning on marshmallows. Hah, that sounds good doesn't it?
And that's when they explained what we had to do for the next 6 days. We had to work. 8 hours a day. 2 lunch breaks. No pay. At first, I was pretty dumbfounded. Well you'd feel like that too if you had to pay 100 euros just to haul your ass halfway across the country on a 10 hour trip just to work. But what the hey, I rolled with it. What have I got to lose anyway? It's not like I had any REAL plans for this summer holiday other than mentally starving myself at home. Might as well get my hands dirty and maybe, just maybe, I'll have some fun while I'm at it.
And that's when I started to get to know these people. These crazy people. Their motives interested me. I mean who the hell would spent a whole entire week of summer holdiays working their butts off in a forest for no apparent gain? Hell, most of them are grown-ass adults who actually have to take time OFF work to be here. If I had known what to expect, I probably would have wussed myself outta there. Wussed out and told myself to stay at home and stone in front of the computer all day. At least, i'd stay comfortable. Thankfully, I went for it. Thankfully, I'm an idiot like that.
And so we worked those six days away. Six days of little sleep. Six days of blisters and back aches. Six days of swatting off feasting mosquitoes. Strangely enough, none of us complained about those things as we broke our backs under that blistering summer sun. In fact, we were laughing and sharing jokes about how fucked up our lives were. It was truly remarkable for me. It defied and smashed all I knew about people. Or at least what I thought I knew. I never knew people like this still existed, people who are willing to selflessly give themselves to a bigger cause.
They say humanity reaches it's peak when men start planting trees whose shades they'll never sit in. Not wanting to over-lament things, but for the past six days, I caught a short glimpse of that. We paved forest paths that we'll probably never walk in. We fed animals we'll never see or touch. We did all these things for something bigger than us. The forest probably won't even notice we were there. We were like tiny little ants. Tiny ants who slaved their asses off for a huge colony that probabaly won't even acknowledge their existence.
Maybe some people would call it stupidity doing something like this. Not like we got any money, right? Not like we got any gain, rihgt? Not like the rest of the world noticed or glorified what we did, right? Not like we became successful or anything. No money. No certificates. No proof. Just us and our efforts. Our efforts to work for the bigger picture. Our efforts to make this world a little bit better instead of bitching about it on Facebook or complaining about it to our friends. Even if it was only a tiny bit.
And as we hugged and waved each other goodbye at the train station platform, I can't help but feel my heart getting a little heavier. Where else in the world am I ever going to meet people like these again? People who selflessly gave their time, sweat and effort for something nobody else wants to get their hands dirty for. It's a sobering thought. But I like sober thougts, they always surprise me. Just like these people have. These people who I met in the forest.
Smeared and smudgy with fingerprints and possibly dried snot, the bus window which I was looking out of made me rethink what I called dirty. I withdrew my hands before I could touch them, I'd rather not catch cancer today. A middle-aged man was leaning heavily against the railing in front of me, obviously being too cool to sit. His body was riddled with piercings, and he had tattoos on top of his tattoos. Whenever he had the chance, he'd shoot a withering glance in my direction, just to make sure I knew how much of a bad ass he was. From that distance, he could've heard my muffled smirking. But with the deafening volume of music he was listening to, I doubt he could hear anything at all.
Not one of my best bus rides admittedly, but my mind was somewhere else. Through the filthy bus windows, the world outside had my full attention. Ever took a good look at one of those country-side post cards? Where there's a picture of rolling hills peppered with trees sitted so beautifully in front of a sunset? And birds, they'll always add pretty-ass birds in there just for good measure. Toss in a couple of farm animals, and I almost feel like buying one for myself already. I always thought that part of the world was a myth. Not because I was a conspiracist or anything, I just never saw it with my own eyes before.
Growing up, the big city was everywhere around me. Traffic jams were common as dirt and the only trees you see are ones sprouting out of concrete. Even when I lay my head down at night, the distant sound of zooming cars and redundant fireworks was never too far away. Where the only things I scrape my knees and elbows on are tar and concrete. A concrete jungle. I remember spending my childhood in this. As kids, we'd stuff rolled up newspapers into car exhaust, just for kicks. We'd patiently wait for the owner to walk by and we'd burst out laughing when the newspaper roll shot out in black smoke after a million starts.
Just going outside to play required adult supervision back then. Even then, I still managed to break a poor kids' nose off a bike. Somedays, we weren't even allowed to go outside. The air would be so thick with haze that our eyes watered and it hurt to even breathe. Even when it rained, the water would still feel warm on your skin. You've learned to keep well away. Get enough of that on your skin and you'd bound to be scratching a sleepness night away. From where I'm from and where I'm at, even the most simplest of things are different. Even the rain.
But here, it's different here. Not the most happening of places though, malls and fancy cafes don't exist, and the only action you get around here is watching cows chew their cuds all day long. But at least I can breathe here. Here, the rivers don't stain the bottom of my pants brown. After staying in the hustle and bustle of the big city for so long, I guess I've overlooked some of life's simplest gifts. A breathe of fresh air. Beautiful scenery.It's the little things, you know? It's the little things that make this world all worthwhile. The world outside this window.
