The sun is rising; I get up and take a shower. I look at my iPhone and, boom! I’m buried in the Middle East: the bloodshed by the extremists, beheadings, death, and Ebola. I read the news as I am driving while swigging the Starbucks coffee down.
I drowned in my outside world, but sometimes at night right when my eyelids get heavy for a split second, I feel how much I miss myself.
How lonely I have become. Please don’t tell me I have more than three thousand friends on Facebook and more than a thousand follow me on Twitter.
The pig inside me is lonely.
The pig inside me looks outside from behind bars, but he is a prisoner with a big unsightly lock on his cage.
The anticipating pig inside me, with all the filth around, is still lonely.
Someone will be serving me to a bunch of strangers on an Easter feast; lying in the middle of the table with a red apple in my mouth. Then, at best, they will admire my taste and that how well I was prepared.
They would never know the pig inside me would have liked to be outside of his cage someday.
© Ardavan Roozbeh
