Impossible?

Pigeons, their beady orange eyes stare inside the window with furtive, curious looks. Their proud breasts ringed in feathers of purple and green, reflecting the early morning sunlight. Perched on the weather beaten window sill, they silently stretch themselves and ruffle their feathers. Their teal blue bodies a welcome splash of color amid the dreary background of dull, splotched building panes which are in dire need of cleaning.

I sit at my workstation in the partial darkness before the first of my colleagues arrive, the only bulbs on in the office space shining above me. The hour is premature as I try to spill out the words on an endless document on my laptop; my mind imagining, reminiscing, aching, almost retching to grasp the exact thoughts and words, trying to do justice. Around me is darkness, I am in an ocean of my own mind, drowning in my own consciousness.

It is night time. I am in my room and the day is almost over. Something continues to tick inside me, the morning’s desperate struggle at reminiscing and painting words on a canvas yielded something. Hope. The lights in the office space switched on one by one, the people started filing in, and the work started piling up. I clung on to the little hope I had conjured from seemingly thin air. The challenges mounted, task after email after meeting after presentation in waves charging at the hope I set ablaze in my heart. The fire dimmed, it flamed again as the gales thawed, it dimmed once more. I returned home, to comforting company. They don’t know, and I can’t speak but they unknowingly lull the bruises, soothe the aching and throw a few more torches to the flame. It is night time, and I warm up to the flame and churn out a stream of words.

It is a Saturday afternoon, and I decide I need a change of setting. I drift into place on a comfortable wooden chair with my bottom firmly pressed on a cushion. Music flows through my headphones, as I take in the ambiance of the small café, observing others for a moment as they work, study, chat and discuss. The music keeps the energy running, as I shift gears. I go blind to those around me, driving on my own highway, my head in my laptop screen. The thoughts come as signs on the roadside, and I faithfully follow the directions, the road stretching for miles before me, melting into the horizon. I keep driving to the melody of music, the notes giving me company on the road trip. My playlist ends, and my car starts drifting off the highway, my eyelids drooping. I order coffee… and brownies, to keep the fire going.

It is Sunday morning. The sun is yet to rise and the biting winter cold gnaws at my freezing toes in bed. I am scared of failure, it springs me out of bed. I struggle to warm up to the fading embers from last night’s flames. My heart wakes up as I shuffle out into the living room and open the window blinds, trying to re-ignite the flames, to keep the fire going in the cold. In the darkness, my imagination takes shape before my eyes, the thoughts darting around the living room like wild doe as I struggle to catch them on to paper. Golden rays filter in through the window blinds, stupefying the doe as they jump about. I catch them and finally get my thoughts flowing. The living room grows brighter as the minutes pass, and the warmth starts to come back again. My parents are bemused when they discover me up so early, but they don’t know since when.

I don’t want to become a phantom caught in my own limbo. I decide to meet some friends, to socialize per se. I need a change of setting, I feel. We go out for lunch, and talk about the world. They don’t know, and I dare not speak but I collect some fuel wood for the fire, to keep it going in the darkness of the night. One of them asks me, he knows. The wild doe jump across the highway as I drive through the ocean of my thoughts, the hope sparking up once more. I dare not answer there; let’s watch the movie for now, I say. The show ends, we discuss the antics of the characters, the sheer dastardliness of the villain, and laugh our way out of the theater. I pocket the hope like a thief and disappear back to my room. I burn through the firewood all evening, challenging the tempests of winter outside, the cold zephyr to breach my stores. I retire in triumph, confident of the dancing flames as they lick the stars in the night sky.

I wake up cold, the embers but a fading glow, jolting me up as I sleepily rouse myself. I struggle in the zephyr’s icy waste, warming my fingers as they strike at the keyboard in the cold office. I am the sole soul on the floor, the fool who comes way too early. The fool sitting in a halo of light in the corner near the window, they say. I give up as the fire goes out, my head in my hands. I hear a peck… Peck, peck, pecking at the window.  Yellow, beady eyes are looking inside the window as a head shifts from side to side in spontaneous bursts of motion. The winter bellows in ferocity outside, the faded, cloth awnings from the window panes flowing in the freezing wind, but the beak continues pecking. I shift in my seat to stare outside, the pigeon’s neck flashing in brilliant greens and purples. For a moment, our eyes meet. A flutter of wings echoes in the somber silence of the empty office, an azure angel taking off in the morning chill.

I turn back to face the endless ocean ahead. Something else lights up inside, something that burns without the firewood. It’s warmer than hope, it’s brighter than the sun. Something glows inside, something that keeps me chasing after the impossible.  

105th day of the climb... The summit is beautiful; the fall, treacherous!