Written by Jacob Ibrag
It’s like I’m staring at a wall. It’s a calm presence. No elements that can trigger my memory. A mirror I imitate. Nothing is happening here. It’s how I imagine floating in space. No gravity to push me around.
The only way to alter the course of an immovable object is to set it ablaze. I am kernel comfortable in his packaging. There is noise coming from behind me. A fire growing beneath my feet. It’s harmless at first, a novel sensation.
And like a seat warmer in a car that’s been on too long, I want to turn it off. It’s uncomfortable. I can feel the fingers of the past carving reminders into my skin. I close my eyes and think of space. An endless and still nirvana.
And then, it all rushes back. I am not the only one. There are others by my side. These aren’t memories, these are people who want nothing more than to dream without being pushed around. We are the same, and yet we get treated differently.
It’s like I’m staring at a wall. Nothing is happening, and the only way to alter the course of an immovable object is to set it ablaze.
Photo by Mosa Moseneke