IT'S times like this when one pines for a more efficient 21st century air-conditioned system. It is Sunday and I am in the office working. Many others are sleeping over the effects of a late Saturday event or have awakened to march to church for the Sunday service.
Here I am, loyal as ever, slaving away for the greater glory of what shall not be mine and the maintenance crew are off because it is a Sunday afterall. Just when one takes the cosy conditions of a modern office for granted, the roof caves in, metaphorically.
It's no fun sitting in an enclosure that does not have a proper ventilation system because it gets quite stuffy after a while.
On Sundays, only members of a few chosen professions turn up for work. Among them are policemen, hospital staff, journos, priests, pilots and street vendors. Frankly, on most normal working Sundays, I love it.
Working on Sundays is different from the weekdays because the office is quieter. You don't get distracted by the usual noisy crowd of non-working employees. Work gets done faster on Sundays because everyone wants to get back on the road and go home to spend time with their families.
I find Sundays a good time for inner reflection. It gives me time to go over what I am about the do in the days ahead. I find the solace beneficial for the soul. The solitude helps clear the cobwebs from my mind and somehow my bearings get re-aligned by themselves.
I heard it once and has seen it many times that "when the mind is silent, the universe surrenders". This kind of happens to me on some Sundays.
There is no rest for the sinners as they say. I am not proclaiming on top of the dining table that I am a saint but I find that anything I love doing is not considered "work".
Work that offers not scope for personal enjoyment is a chore. Not in my more mature years, I find few things or assignments disconcerting. I guess I can "see" better and envision more pleasant things ahead. It is called being on the threshold of wisdom. Age is not a prerequisite for being wise. A child of 10 can be wise beyond his years, just as a man who is 80 may not have made his exit from his childhood era. Life's like that.
Right now, the temperature in this office is soaring. Outside the temperature is probably about 32 degrees Farenheit. Since this is an equatorial country, the humidity is high and his taken for granted.
There is a discernible slackening of activity on the usually busy streets of the city. Fewer people are found on the streets. Most of the working class are at rest at home, recuperating for the next bout of activity beginning tomorrow (Monday).
I welcome each Sunday as if it is cool breeze from the sea. It brushes across my heart and soul like a celestial wind that conjures images and feelings of heaven on earth. Sunday should be a day of rest, except that the term "rest" is open to interpretation. For me, it is restful because I get to do the things I want. It offers an opportunity to slow down on the fast track of life.
I think of old friends, write messages of hope and joy and watch the world spinning towards another day in the endless line of millennia. I know life is more than Sundays, or even weekdays. Sundays serve just like a pit-stop where each individual gets to have his bearings re-aligned and his mind a respite. We all need that. It is given to us.
Don't ever sing again "Never on a Sunday". It should be "make everyday a Sunday".
Try this if you're are bored
Call all knife knuts
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