Pedro Ávila

Silence, finally.

A rare moment these days, when one’s sleep is disrupted over so trivial a thing as breakfast, which I’m capable of preparing myself, thanks. I brood over the necessity of such a disruption but the brooding doesn’t fix it. Oh well. At least it doesn’t last long either.

I’m not much of a brooder. I think it’s because there are too many people in my life that require too much of my attention. I guess you could say I’ve learned to brood in short bursts, since brooding is somewhat unavoidable.

Random thoughts again in the morning. They come at me like the salty air from the beach comes at my face when I scope out the waves prior to jumping in. Questions abound over the nature of this trip, its purpose, if any exists. Is this really just another business trip that happened to be to a familiar place? Or is it an opportunity to be shown a bigger picture? To see the repercussions of the choices I’ve made?

I’m not one for chance, and I loathe the idea of destiny. But the alternative – right now — is somewhat terrifying.

Everywhere on the beach there are girls, surfers, mothers, madams, chicks and useless dependent, bikini-filling masses. Most cling to their respective husbands and boyfriends and another majority of the rest look desperately for their own before they lose their appeal. It is this dependence that is beyond my tolerance.

It is not in my nature to understand this need people seem to have, this affinity for dependence. I would just as soon turn a need into a want, even if I have to sell it to myself. A need is a weakness; a want is avoidable. You can choose to suffer, and I’d prefer to suffer a want than to crave a need.

How could you want to need someone?  That just seems like the longest way possible through the mud — small-minded thinking rooted in a smaller view of a larger image.

What then, am I seeing here? What am I doing here? Am I here to discover this, or is the causality all mixed up in these words? And more importantly, if there is no purpose, can I still fail?

That would be inconceivable; so much is riding on the outcome, so many future paths depend on these choices…

Failure, although my biggest, and oldest fear is not the worst consequence. The worst part of it all is the fear that can come to govern this existence. The fear of the rot that follows failure, the apathetic mediocrity that follows complacency – this sickness consumes more than we care to count. I fight for the strength to rise above it.

Excuse me. I have to jump in the water for a sec ‘cause life ain’t all just a string of words for you to read.

And now I’m brooding too long when the water feels this good. You suckers keep reading. I’m going surfing.

Pedro Ávila Pedro Ávila

For a reasonably sane & productive member of society (arguable, but let’s not complicate things), I’m far too mobile and unrooted. I travel quite a bit for a job that is simultaneously my greatest privilege and my worst burden.

So I write. And I write. Travel pieces, political journalism (a stretch from ranting but, still), short stories, poetry and other such riff-raff. I contribute to a handful of publications and will probably just keep going until something gives out, or someone gives in.


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