The giving in
When I started working my job as a taxidriver, it felt like who I was, was slipping away. All the interactions with people, all the new things learned. The working identity against the identity of who I had viewed myself to be. And I realized I could not fight against it. It crept up on me. A different way of thinking, of handling things. A more conscious existence where people at times are viewed as a different species entirely - where being in a position of service, I myself am treated as less than human some times.
Like some hungry encasing clawing its way up, devouring the me I had gotten used to. Being the only thing visible, slowly taking over everything. And no matter how much I tried pulling it away from me, it would grow back so much faster. Unwilling to give in. At some point, I guess my hands grew heavy, and I grew tired. The clawing at the thing that fought to be the new me, slowly ceased to exist. Hands motionless in tiresome defeat.
In the end, all that was left was one question: when did the old me last close eyes?
Mechanical pencil on white A4 printing paper
Online since 17-02-2017