The Next Best Thing

Like all inspiring music, Rachel Platten's Fight Song has put me on fire. 

I feel imprisoned!

The walls that I'm trapped in between are closing in. With every passing second, they restrict inwards. There is nothing but darkness before my eyes. It makes no difference if I close them shut, or keep them wide open. All I see is black. 

The walls are ever so close. 

I can't breathe...

I must break...free!

That's how I imagine myself dying.

My claustrophobia has rendered me fragile. IRL, it isn't a box I'm inside; it's this world. I feel the edges moving closer, the whole earth deflating and becoming less spacious, making it difficult for me to breathe. There is just too much to take at once. Being an eighteen-year-old isn't easy.

For starters, my life was already messed up. Since birth. That's right. I don't know how I got through high school, but I did. The culprits were the last years of high school that I believe—I know—made me encounter the turning-point. And I chose wrong.

And now, I pay the price. Every day.

Our choices matter. One bad choice is equal to ten thousand lifetimes of misery. We must be wary during choosing.

As we grow up, everything takes the form of corridor bullies. Or, in my case, "everywhere bullies". You have to have the energy to deal with pressing matters, before they get the chance to deal with you. And when that happens, I know what happens.

Desolation.

It's like having flown into a flock of migrating vultures, instead of your own. Once you've been seen, you can't hide from them. Then, you must fly away as fast as your strength permits. You must do whatever necessary to escape. Or else, you'll be captured, bit, and killed.

I think I have flown into a group of even dangerous predators.

Campus life is, so far, unaffected. So far so good.

My major is taking over now. It's like I'm trapped in the loop of a flowchart. I can't seem to fulfill the condition that my enemies have implemented, to get out of the loop. And it's round and round; in circles, every glorious day.

I don't cry anymore. Even though I know it helps, I see it as a sign of weakness. I hold back my fountain, nice and tight, until the urge dissipates. But there are times, when I don't.

I ask you again, my tormentors: What did I do?

My claustrophobia isn't permanent. I do manage to get away from my pursuers. And it is then that I can breathe. But the getaway is terminal.

And the cycle continues.

I tell myself to be patient.

A permanent escape awaits; all I have to do is be patient, and walk my way to it.

It awaits.

It is happening every day.

I read today about a rare Swordfish that was caught—poor soul—and was sold. Our money-hungry capitalists will do everything to rise above their stations. Worse than even them, are the fishermen who come across such rare and endangered fish, and don't set them free, even after the education they're provided of handling said species. There was already the tragedy of the Largetooth Sawfish that was sold, despite it's status of critically endangered. And now, yet another has occurred.

We are sailing to destination destruction. 

The rare Houbara Bustards need saving, too. There had been a ban on their hunting, but it was only short-lived. The government lifted the ban because of God only knows why.

I remember what my mother used to say about our Peacocks when I was little. That they were endangered. And they're still. Peacocks are being hunted down even today.

What of our Indus Dolphins? They were endangered, too! Their habitat was being dumped with chemical waste and they were dying as a result. Is even a single one left?

The Pangolin that was shot! It was in the news how a wounded Pangolin was found. It had been transferred to an animal facility. Or so I keep telling myself. The very next day, came the news of that poor Pangolin's death.

What are we doing?

As the human race is advancing, the animals of this cursed planet are dying. So casually! We have blood on our hands! The blood of millions of beautiful animals that are no longer with us. What of the endangered? Are we making sure that they're given the needed resources of repopulating? No. Instead, we are hell-bent on seeing them fall into the abyss of extinction.

Who will save them?

The organizations that have sworn to protect these animals can only do so much. We, instead of contributing to their welfare, are contributing to increase more deaths.

I believe a global campaign is needed, to pull the entire world out of the darkness that it is inside now. And into the light that will be its salvation. If you're reading this, start a campaign of your own. Visit your nearest pet-shelter and start contributing. Look for internships at different animal-shelter organizations. Write an eye-opener of your own. Post a video on YouTube; make sure it goes viral.

Let us be the voice of these voiceless endangered!

Re-enactment shows are on the rise.

Almost all of the news channels that we see have one or another crime re-enactment show that is aired. The content that is shown in these half-hourly television shows is not suitable for under-18's, but no specific warning is issued as preamble to the episodes as they begin—to ward off the under aged. Some parents are ignorant to the upbringing of their children and allow them to sit and watch. This results in the child's learning of the horrors of the world of crime and gives room to...possibilities.

The crimes being re-enacted are usually that of theft, murder, abduction, and sexual abuse.

 If left unsupervised during watching TV, teenagers might come across these shows in the process of 'sifting through' different channels. They might decide to watch and it might not be healthy for them.

PEMRA has issued warnings to more than seventeen TV channels, asking them to abide by their policies, lest the channels should get banned.

Whatever hope I had of a successful social-life at campus, is long dead.

Work is piling up, and I have yet to compartmentalize it for my convenience. The days of ease are gone and I am now stuck in a maze of bewilderment. There is just too much that needs my concentration. It's either my only two friends during the ten-minute breather between classes, or not missing the name-call after the break ends. Those ten minutes end so fast! I always refuse to leave, of course. But, my refusals have had a toll on my friendship; my friends don't expect me to show up and when I do at the end, I'm given the cold shoulder.

There is competition. No one seems to threaten me, but underestimating people is a bad habit I've been trying to get rid of. So, I'll definitely not resort to it. I'll keep an eye out, as always, for the ones I have to be wary of.

Impressing the teachers is what I primarily devote my energy to. So far, my progress bar is stuck at zero. Taking assumptive measures for achieving destinations has not once been of fruit, so here's my Plan B: I guess I'll just do my best, without judging anyone—until the necessity comes knocking—and make sure that my teachers remember me.

Climbing up the social hierarchy is a fool's errand; specially for someone like me. What was I thinking? A gigantic selfie with my entire class? I don't even like selfies.

At times like these, one must do whatever is important. I think I have a pretty clear idea now, after being a failure yet again at being properly social, of what actually needs to be done and what doesn't.

Yay, you, life.