Tag: Inspiration

Survive

Biko3 Comments

Annie Spratt (2).jpg

You feel it in the air sometimes

lingering

in its repetition

In its own rendition

of the sound

made by

swarms

of bees

Buzzing

In hives

that survive

the strands

of time

In time

Still stinging

and ringing

In metaphorical ears

that even after

all these years

Still

kinda

sound the same

Still

kinda

feel the same

Maybe slightly kinder

to ears

less fragile

after years

of buzzing

But the stings

never heal

No,

those ones stay

Those ones

linger

Morphing into

what we try

to be

Those ones

become

our own rendition

of the bee

that once stung

And maybe that’s all we ever really needed

Maybe that’s our buzz

 

© Hudson Biko

Photograph: Annie Spratt

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If It Feels Like You’re Not Really Doing Anything Right Now, That’s Okay

Biko2 Comments

Joshua Earle.jpgPhotograph: Joshua Earle

 

From the subtle to the obvious fragments of its existence. From the crawling caterpillars to the racing cars. From the involuntary blinks to the calculated footsteps. From all of its simplicities and its intricacies, movement not only surrounds us, it is us.

Continuously evolving. Pervading the realms of the conscious and the subconscious. Continuously reminding us of its existence.

And living amongst that, we feel that its part and parcel of everything that we have to be. That we have to continuously move. That as much as it is us, we have to be it as well.

But sometimes we aren’t. Sometimes we feel stagnant. Sometimes it feels like we are going somewhere but not really going. Living in this paradox of mobility and immobility. And because of that we try to force things to happen. To reach this major thing we’re aiming for, the fastest way we can. To be that racing car.

But racing cars aren’t always racing. Expectations aren’t always a reality. Pressure doesn’t always mould diamonds. And we find ourselves where we were to begin with. Only this time, more aware of our shortcomings. More aware of of our immobility. More aware of the distance to the thing we’re aiming for.

And you know what? That’s okay.

The tortoise always gets to the finish line, regardless of what the hare does.

That’s the part of the story we were never really told. Irrespective of the pre-conceived notions we hold in realms we call expectation, everything evolves and moves at the rate at which it does.

Yes. You have the capacity to determine certain facets of its trajectory. Yes. You are the master of your own masterpiece. Yes. Try the hardest that you possibly can.

But when you reach out for something and feel nothing at the end of it. When you see something but can’t really look at it. When the crawling caterpillar takes forever to turn into a butterfly. Know that it will all be okay.

If it feels right and every part of you wants it bad enough. It’s part and parcel of your own metamorphosis. Every involuntary and calculated step is a dissection of the simple and the intricate parts of the greater labyrinth. And when you eventually find its exit.

When you eventually feel like you’re really doing something. You’ll realize that there was never a racing car, a hare or a tortoise. Only you.

A paradox. Continuously evolving.

 

Previously published by Thought Catalog at www.thoughtcatalog.com.

I Started Learning How To Code, and Its Pretty Cool

Biko2 Comments

Artem Sapegin.jpgPhotograph: Artem Sapegin

If you came to me seven months ago and told me that I would be learning how to code, I would have laughed at your face. Okay, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration. I would have probably told you, “Yeah, maybe” – the reasons for that are a whole other essay. But the main thing is, in the realms of my perceived reality, it was more like: “Yeah, maybe not” – and the maybe are the parts of me that are being incredibly optimistic.

In my reality, I was never seated behind a computer screen writing lines and lines of code. I was never stuck in between brackets and semi-colons. I was never consumed by wanting to know how to be stuck between brackets and semi-colons. And the only red lines I ever saw and cared about were the ones you get on that word document.

I liked that was everything was based on a platform of reason. That I could refer to a theory on that one paper I’m working on. That I could write a response to that essay topic. That everything was relatively straightforward.

But at the same time, I also liked that I could be creative. That I could make those thoughts at the back of my mind mean something. That I could speak poetry and act. That I could draw.

Okay, scratch that last part, I’m a pretty terrible artist. But I think you know what I’m getting at. It wasn’t that coding was never plan a, b, c or d. It was never a plan to begin with.

Nevertheless, the irony in prediction, is its unpredictability. I don’t really know how I got there, but there I was, sitting behind a computer, wanting to know how to write lines of code.

And I was right. It wasn’t based on reason. It wasn’t creative.

It was both.

It was this weird form of artistry and structure. It was mixing colours and shapes to create something I visualised. It was building those thoughts on a platform of reason.

It was appreciating those red lines. Don’t get me wrong, I hate them. But there’s an incredible satisfaction in solving the things that appear unsolvable.

In wanting to know how to get to the next bracket and semi-colon.

In continuously expanding the realms of my perceived reality.

In continuously embracing prediction and unpredictability.

finish()

Taxi Musing II

Biko17 Comments

Peter Kasprzyk.jpg

On Friday afternoon, I took two taxi rides.

On my first, I was on my way somewhere. I didn’t know exactly where I was going. I didn’t know exactly how I would reach there. I really just hoped that the driver taking me would.

He didn’t.

But he did have an idea. An idea of where that place was. An idea of the roads that might lead there. An idea of the path to our destination.

 

On my second, I was on my way home. I knew exactly where I was going. I knew exactly how I would reach there. I really just hoped that the driver taking me would.

He did.

But amongst the congestion and confusion we call traffic on a Friday afternoon, we got stuck in the middle of each highway or pathway we eventually got on.

Both times, I eventually got to exactly where I wanted to go. Albeit from contrasting starting points.

On the first, we found our way based on an idea. Based on our perception of what the end would like.

On the second, we had to divert from pre-conceived notions. We had to find alternative pathways to reach where we wanted to go.

I think that sometimes that’s the oxymoron we find ourselves in-between.

In-between working towards something we don’t really visualize and finding alternative ways of achieving what we’ve already visualized, especially in the midst of unexpected constraints.

But I also think that those are the moments that define us. The moments where we have to  believe in our own beliefs. The moments where we have to overcome unprecedented barriers. The moments where the journey makes the destination truly worthwhile.

 

© Hudson Biko

Photograph: Peter Kasprzyk