Every morning I join the throngs of commuters on their way to our nations capital and I can’t help but feel that I don’t belong. This thought is reflected in their attitudes towards me, the way their noses raise up and the little smirk appears on their face that says to me ‘you don’t belong here’. I’ve come to realise that the reason I don’t belong there is because I’m happy, and because I’m the one with the plan.
There’s nothing worse than looking around a morning train to London and just seeing the bloated entrails of what’s left of these people. They’ve got so comfortable in what they’re doing that it requires very little effort to think the whole thing through. They might have ‘made it’ in their eyes (meaning they live quite comfortably) but that doesn’t really seem to equal a whole lot of happiness for them. Once you’re trapped into the system or the ‘rat race’ proper I imagine it’s very hard to break out of it, you get used to the burn, and eventually you are nothing but a smouldering pile of ashes inside a filled to capacity shell. I’ve made a promise to myself to never get like that, to never accept anything, because it’s all changeable, there’s nothing certain about what we do every day and I take joy in that. I’m still aware. That’s what I believe makes them snub me, it’s because they can still see my cogs turning and the dreams in my eyes as I return their gaze and smile to myself.