Whatever the case maybe, there is something to be said about the therapeutic quality of sharing; even if it is to the great big quiet, to the humming web, the network of machines and the people that are slave to them.
I am constantly thinking of escape; of running away, of fleeing from the now, of abandoning my life and immersing myself in some foreign culture, of forgetting my name and my identity; I am constantly thinking of what it would feel like to disappear, to fade into a sea of faces and to just become another number.
This is perhaps how I get by. As I travel and struggle through the mental toil of trying to complete my PhD I experience moments in which I become small and insignificant compared to the incessant roar of life and economics.
On a train to Dwingeloo, yes there is such a place - I'm noone.
On a flight from Accra, I'm returning to nothing, from nothing, a child of in-betweens.
On a bus-ride to the rural border; life and the future is out of my hands. I am this person who tries as much as possible to embrace the future and to shape his own destiny, but I'm also aware that perhaps, in the greater scale of things, I am just the result of innumerable cosmic accidents.
