Lust not, son

I was looking out the window and across the street and I saw you, son. Your eyes were staring hard at the folks on the other side. When you see the big rides rolling down the street, with women bigger than big with lips redder than red, lust not son. Turn not your eyes to the little children dressed in boots higher than high with headphones larger than large. Salivate not when they bog down giant tubs of ice-cream, wish not for their large toys and their purring motorbikes. Stare not when they get into their houses, bother not with what they eat and what they don’t.

You do not know what happens when the car is packed into the garage and the huge mahogany doors are closed behind the big woman and her big man. Lust not son, at the big woman’s dark glasses, for behind them are eyes puffed by the meaty fists of the big man. Their children have everything to eat but still hunger for a sense of belonging. They crave independence from self-colonization. They have a big house but still they crave for a home. There love is drier than dry and insecurity is at its highest even with the tunnels and the muscular soldiers. They are tired, son, of being what the society expects of them. They are tired of living lives that are not theirs and playing games they will never win. That is why they laugh the most they can outside because their house is a cold house. Their fathers are too busy with the cheques while their mothers sit on the high stools sipping whiskey and hunting for wrinkles in the bathroom mirror. They worry about the little executive secretary and his personal assistant. Their wives spend sleepless nights when he goes on a business trip. He could come back with a truck full of diseases for the wives to carry. They have to try, and they try too hard to look beautiful so the pot-bellied hyenas do not stray but that doesn’t ever stop them. They don’t understand the value of their wives because they can always find other ones out there. Lust not after their lives son, because the moment you get into their world of freedom you lose your world of freedom.

You have little son, just enough to eat and cover yourself. You have a small house and a small life, but your hearth is always warm. You can laugh at our silly jokes and share in the contentment of a people for here you have a family, you have a home. We may not be able to live that large but we are free to live with whatever little we have. We don’t have to try hard because we don’t have a status to uphold. We don’t have to explain to anyone why we are shopping in the open-air market and not in the malls. We do not have to worry about what people would say about our how we live and how we eat. We have freedom and peace of mind. We can go to sleep and doze off without worry or fear that things will not be the same in the morning. You do not have to worry that your mum will fly out someday and forget about you. I am not giving excuses, all I am saying, son, is that true happiness is that which comes from the heart, not the pockets. So lust not after their lives because you will fall into their trap and you will give up everything for nothing.

There is a lot of free cheese in the mousetrap but the mice there are never happy.

(anonymous?)