Every second counted. Every gap had to be occupied. No break in the defence was permissible. My comrades were close, the opponents closer. No option but to advance for your faction to progress. Every moment counted. The weight of all those behind you — responsibility, pressure — call it what you want is what drove me ahead.
The stress and tension were palpable. Some cried out loud to rally the troops, albeit adding to the distress and haste. The situation so grave every breath made my stomach churn. Absolute vocal silence exacerbated the dirty rumbling of all the machines. Poised with the triggers, we waited eagerly for our targets. No sooner had an opening been created than we had pounced on it. Those facing us endeavoured to do the same.
Everyone charged, as steady as possible. The two sides almost clashed, or should I say crashed. The opposing sides were orthogonal, running into each other.
There was no animosity, no hurt feelings. I wasn’t alone yet alone in this struggle. My decisions, my actions and my skill determined the immediate fate of those destined to follow my path. The braver I was, the faster I would be liberated from the fray. That was for the best. Short pull ahead, short pushes back — one part accelerating, the other ready to brake — were okay when the promise of freedom lies ahead.
Such is the daily battle of the crossroads. The westerners might not know about it. Where you face intersecting roads without the attention of functional traffic signals (or the police), vying for an unobstructed path to throttle through is inevitable.
Neither you nor your competitors harbour any hostility towards each other. You must cross them to move ahead as they must cross you. The real enemy is the circumstance. The hurry to reach the destination, instigated by the fear and inconvenience of being late, pushes you ahead.
If you felt lost reading that, these are the metaphors I tried to embed. Vain cries → honking; grave breath → pollution and triggers → accelerators. The situation is that of a traffic jam (not the usual one) — imagine traffic crossing like the train tracks above.
- - - - - - - - - -
I’ve been meaning to write about this aspect of traffic for quite some time now. I know I’ve just begun writing for ‘writing’ and I know I have a long way to go, but putting this mental (pun intended) scene into words has been quite fulfilling. I know it’s not perfect. The gap between this battle and its idealised representation as a melting pot of so many perspectives and emotions is my motivation to continue writing to portray my thoughts more accurately. This portrayal seemed forced (to me) and I long for the day I needn’t grab at words but, instead, they flow through me.
Today, I shuffle through the thesaurus to find pieces to complete the picture. I am to create the puzzle from which others, like the current me, will draw pieces of inspiration.
After being done with the GRE, I’m prepping for the TOEFL. Writing exercises like this, again, not only serve as practice but also let me let off some steam accumulated thanks to my commute. For those in the same boat as me, doing something like this is a good idea.
The stress and tension were palpable. Some cried out loud to rally the troops, albeit adding to the distress and haste. The situation so grave every breath made my stomach churn. Absolute vocal silence exacerbated the dirty rumbling of all the machines. Poised with the triggers, we waited eagerly for our targets. No sooner had an opening been created than we had pounced on it. Those facing us endeavoured to do the same.
Everyone charged, as steady as possible. The two sides almost clashed, or should I say crashed. The opposing sides were orthogonal, running into each other.
There was no animosity, no hurt feelings. I wasn’t alone yet alone in this struggle. My decisions, my actions and my skill determined the immediate fate of those destined to follow my path. The braver I was, the faster I would be liberated from the fray. That was for the best. Short pull ahead, short pushes back — one part accelerating, the other ready to brake — were okay when the promise of freedom lies ahead.
Such is the daily battle of the crossroads. The westerners might not know about it. Where you face intersecting roads without the attention of functional traffic signals (or the police), vying for an unobstructed path to throttle through is inevitable.
Neither you nor your competitors harbour any hostility towards each other. You must cross them to move ahead as they must cross you. The real enemy is the circumstance. The hurry to reach the destination, instigated by the fear and inconvenience of being late, pushes you ahead.
If you felt lost reading that, these are the metaphors I tried to embed. Vain cries → honking; grave breath → pollution and triggers → accelerators. The situation is that of a traffic jam (not the usual one) — imagine traffic crossing like the train tracks above.
- - - - - - - - - -
I’ve been meaning to write about this aspect of traffic for quite some time now. I know I’ve just begun writing for ‘writing’ and I know I have a long way to go, but putting this mental (pun intended) scene into words has been quite fulfilling. I know it’s not perfect. The gap between this battle and its idealised representation as a melting pot of so many perspectives and emotions is my motivation to continue writing to portray my thoughts more accurately. This portrayal seemed forced (to me) and I long for the day I needn’t grab at words but, instead, they flow through me.
Today, I shuffle through the thesaurus to find pieces to complete the picture. I am to create the puzzle from which others, like the current me, will draw pieces of inspiration.
After being done with the GRE, I’m prepping for the TOEFL. Writing exercises like this, again, not only serve as practice but also let me let off some steam accumulated thanks to my commute. For those in the same boat as me, doing something like this is a good idea.
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