The Fault in Our Lives

And proposals for how to fix it

When I think of the world we live in, what I usually portray in my mind is a blue globe embedded with green cut-outs of surfaces we have been fortunate to call our home for the past approximately 300,000 years. With this portrayal tends to cross my mind the elaborate size of this globe, the way in which it so effortlessly carries its posture; a back persisting on arching no matter how many times we have stabbed it either unconsciously or out of spite.

We; tiny droplets of this big blue bubble, boasting about our role in maintaining the foundation of its delicate curvature. We; insignificant pieces of a pie we are constantly tempted to keep a more-than-proportionate size of to ourselves. We; minuscule specs of nothingness on the verge of trying to transform into something during our journey on this globe lasting an incalculable amount of time.

• We are boarding a train headed towards an unknown destination

Each one of us is undertaking a different seat; not one resulting out of a genuine thought. A choice, sure, but not a well-conceived one. It lingers on us as the train departs, moving past a speed tailored to our individual taste. Some of us may choose to slow down the speed in entertaining ourselves with distracting thoughts, emotions and actions that deliver us to a space lacking any concept of the passage of time; or the speed at which the train has been programmed to travel.

We may like to think we are the sole passengers as we dissociate ourselves from the senses proclaiming others around us, but once the entertainment comes to an end, we are left facing the hall full of seats of passengers just as lost or dumbfounded as us.

We turn our heads towards the clock ticking at all of us from the same high angle, piercing our eyes until we decide to let go off its gaze. Our newly uncovered understanding of the numbers present on its shape leaves us with a notion; whether it be satisfied or cautious, nervous or excited.

We have now positioned our gazes towards the outside of our windows; the rushed crossing of acres of skies and land. The precious coat of a new bookmark in our books of lives. A different view encouraging a new perspective. A sight inviting us to consider the next phase of our train journey.

• Back to engaging with our chosen method of entertainment

During the process we may come across momentary thoughts itching the back of our minds.

Who is the conductor of the train?

Where are they taking us?

What made them want to become a train conductor?

Are we safe in their hands?

Or better yet, some of us may even ponder: Does this driver even exist?

A thought that cannot help but linger on a selected few as they observe the train picking up a speed that is uncalled for. We are travelling faster than the speed of light, barely able to breath; let alone acknowledge that we are breathing. What’s more is that the speed appears to correspond to our perception. The more we notice its ridiculous passage, the faster it advances. The train vessel begins to shake, much like the hearts in our exasperated chests.

We think we have it sorted. We may as well begin to interact with the rest of the passengers in the ill-fated train. Our hands mingle with theirs; often not in a friendly fashion. We like to gulp down the fear giving birth from the train’s turbulence with a shot of conflict. Blood, sweat and tears ensue as the train only responds to our menacing occupation with an even sturdier quake.

We must persevere.

The physical pain does not suffice in carrying the weight of our cautious bodies, so we resort to additional forms of distraction. Arguments, debates and offences cross paths with our exhausted mouths as the train appears to take a swift turn towards the incoming railway track from the side. The train is now rolling with inconceivable force.

Those of us with the privilege to comfort ourselves find that now is the best time to do so, as we exchange our surplus of welfare suppliers with additional distractions. It is also the precise moment at which the need for non-entertaining necessities arises, and we are first in line to make sure they are delivered to our labelled seats.

The rest of our tokens supplying our welfare rest in the safety of our pockets as we consistently avoid the gaze of nearby passengers who lack the privilege of a surplus of welfare suppliers, let alone a decent amount of them, if any. We seek to help, but we figure we have a priority of sheltering potential forms of distraction; anything to neglect the passage of the train’s speed.

• Back to staring out of the window that continues to override various views

The journey seems to be taking its toll on us, so our fatigue has asked to be shielded with a sign of tolerance. We wear the masks of complete alignment with the speed of the train, hinting at a forced smile of contentment at its gradual increase.

We know there is no end to the journey, so we may as well pretend to assume it will end at a convenient time that suits our best judgement. Some of us may decide to shut the curtains of the windows, overwhelmed by the show of uncontrollable speed.

Others are overwhelmed by the possibility of potential aid coming from the outside. Any sign of hands from our surroundings terrifies us. The mere thought of interaction with the unknown haunts us. We are now accustomed to solving the last details of our helpless doom.

We cannot even claim for it to have been self-perpetuated, since the tickets to this train were offered to us; not bought. We just know when we embarked it; the why continues to fill us with curiosity as we can only hope for the sudden brake that will either slow down or pause the train’s journey; a journey from which some may decide to evacuate by finding ways to exit the train whilst still in motion.

• Back to approaching the origin of the journey

The train is now fuming with rage, tilting sideways and providing a countdown for the moment it will eventually lose balance and tip over the track. It sends the entire body of passengers up and out of their seats, causing them to attach to one another like butter on bread. An insoluble cube of drumming hearts and explosive eyes.

The end does not need to give us a warning of its coming. We know it is here. It is awaiting us at its own command. It is lenient, but it never ceases being true to its word. A word given to us at the beginning of our journey. The acquirement of the tickets we thought we had an infinity to spend taking advantage of, but of which have come with an expiry date; and at this point, the difference in the precise timing set for each one of us does not have as deep an impact as we might have perceived.

Once the fact that all of us are eventually headed to the same destination, the exact moment of individually doing so tends to lose its stardom. We soak in the last sights of the journey amidst chaos and havoc; one which we hate to admit guilt for having participated in sometime during the journey. One whose end has finally revealed itself.

But it does not do that just yet. Not until we go back. Back to the start of the journey when we were presented with decision-making. Back to when we can all still go if we make the well thought-out choice of living as a globe condensed into a droplet rather than a droplet condensed into a globe.

Our hands are joined, pulling one another up from the doomed train’s ground as we notice it approaching the next stop. We cannot go back to the starting point, but we can choose to turn the current stop into the origin of who we were meant to embark as on this journey.

Angelina Der Arakelian