the quiet rhythm

The office sounds like a toned-down version of what it had probably been like during the 1900s when a room full of typewriters made their joyful clickety-clack sounds. At least, that’s what the period movies usually depict. Quite therapeutic, the rhythmic bashing of computer keyboards lulls me to a state of almost-asleep. It’s after lunch and my mind would always shut down briefly around this time. I believe it has something to do with how the digestive system is using up most of the energy in the body and so the brain has to give in.

So, I sit back on my chair, cross-legged and neck tilting slightly upwards. It takes my brain at least 15 minutes to replenish the energy it needs. Sometimes it may demand more time and usually, I wouldn’t mind. Alas, Guilt kicks in and reminds me that I am paid to sit here and do work. At the same time, Pride barges in and tells me that I’m in full control of my life; I can and should do whatever I want. To appease Guilt, I wake up. To satisfy Pride, I continue day-dreaming.

It is still rather quiet, but the rhythm goes on. I wonder, as I always do, how they can keep on typing. Do they really enjoy doing their work? Is it just merely an obligation they have to fulfil? I don’t think I can type continuously for more than 3 minutes even on a topic that I find interesting. My mind pauses at intervals. Like my body, it needs rest every now and then.

The bashing reduced to two pairs of hands. The quiet remains. We are each in our own little universe. And quite suddenly, a different sound decides to join. It was first a pitter-patter and then quickly joined by a rush like that of a waterfall. The furious rain hitting the roof breaks the spell and the two pairs of hands take a breather, a pair of legs starts walking to the loo and a voice starts an empty conversation.


 

The above was written today. Whenever my mind feels congested and my heart is dangerously close to exploding, I indulge in writing. I played with my senses, which caused me to be present. Then, I write down what I see, hear, touch or smell. I played with the sentence structure and I gave inanimate objects some character. It may not be great, but the process sparked that thing in me that I nearly forgot how it felt. And I bloody love it.

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