Don't drag me down

I feel as if there is someone watching over me, in a very cynical, non twenties love song sort of way. Someone who broods over the possibilities of my day, waiting for it to turn in delightful ways, before hurling down the one thing that could shatter all positive antecedents. This person knows me, all too well I fear. This person knows that I’ll only cry at the worst moments, usually involving mass amounts of people, especially my coworkers and my elementary students. They know that when I become completely frustrated or pissed off I’m liable to throw whatever is in my possession. Yet they also know that I am glued to a contract, for the next six months, which prohibits me from leaving this country, and even worse, as a temporary resident of this country, I am under certain societal restraints, of politeness, of monetary dependence, social dependence even. They know that when the PE teachers slaps thirteen year old Masao across the face repeatedly, drawing out the sound, yelling in full sight of thirty other teachers, allowing others to berate the student as well, that I am capable of horrendous acts. Somehow, they know that were I to live up to my potential and possibly whap this man upside his goddamn face with my laptop, that I’d, in retrospect, feel guilty. They know that were I a callous being, incapable of drawing emotional reproach from the abuse of students, that I’d feel, at some point or another, a certain remorseful emptiness. But the kicker, they know that being restrained to my desk, laptop in hand, ready to hurl, mouth agape, awaiting some novel words, on the verge of action but unable to fulfill such, brings me to the lowest point in my life, a reverse apex, a concave bell curve. The ultimate moment of redemption was at hand. The one moment when you finally have the desire, feel the need to say or do something, anything, to make people see, to show them the gross violations of human sanctity they are allowing in their presence, the moment to take a stand against that rat-faced bastard, the moment where I’m, quite possibly, as upset as I’ve ever been, or will ever be, where I’m most moved to take action…inevitably, the one moment when I am held back by a barrage of logical reasoning. But some actions defy reason. I hate that man. I can honestly say that. When all I’ve ever wanted for human existence is the equality of social beings, on every scale possible, here exists this man in direct opposition to my self-imposed purpose for existing, and he’s trumped me. Just one more person telling me, indirectly, to sit down, to shut up, that I’ll never make a difference. There will always be some responsibility, some contract, some inane, banal reason, to subdue, to override, to belittle my outrage, to reduce what I want done, to what must be done, into what will be done, sadly, into what should have been done.

If the reason you feel you’re here, existing, is constantly thrown in your face as inconsequential, impossible, does the necessity for that purpose become that much greater, or must the purpose go through revision?

"Ignorance like a gun in hand,
Reach out to the promised land
Your history books are full of lies,
Media-blitz gonna dry your eyes
Have you ever been afraid,
and felt society try to keep you down?
....Don't drag me down." - SD