Labour

24 06 2008

Ever noticed how pain is rarely conceived immaculately? The inception is usually an after-effect of being in love with an illusion.

Then there is the gestation, since we are all instinctively pro-pain. The slowing of pace and time, as it sucks life out of you, consumes you. The uncontrollable urge to tear up; the need to rush to the folds of a restroom stall in the middle of a meeting. The reading of every piece of literature you can lay your hands on, in preparation. All for that ungrateful wretch who kicks you in the gut every sleepless night, for months.

Finally, the inevitable labour, yelling, screaming and pain. Just when you feel like you are about to die, the expulsion, in a form that usually disappoints. Half-baked and wrinkled. Refusing to meet your eyes, it passes into the hands of someone who is there for you. Or perhaps someone you paid to be there. There is the counting of the digits and snapping of the fingers. Then a pinch and a yelp. And it is pronounced alive.

Suddenly, it is no longer what you are, just something that was once a part of who you were.

Or perhaps, it will be stillborn. And you will have nothing to show for, after all the effort.