The alarms ring. Everyone jolts into action. We never paused our work, but it is time to recommence our second job alongside the first one.
Mr. Subconscious Brain is all-powerful, but we have no qualms when he works us twenty-four by seven. Controls all our involuntary actions, and is like the archive mind everyone's so afraid of; while his brother, the younger Mr. Conscious sleeps before making us work at our second job.
I shrugged the clutches of sleep, and stuttered to work before the gossipping nerves get to me; everyone knows what I do for a living (pardon the pun), but I wonder if they truly know what my second job is.
Frankly, I run a hamster wheel. Carrots with the metaphorization of happiness have been cruelly dangled, and I've been ordered to run eternally after them, round the clock, whenever I'm awake - sometimes, if the mood strikes, even in the dreams.
The lungs greet me, and meticulously begin their day's work, coordinating with the respiratory system. I hear the stray whisper of the digestive system now and again with how close the food-pipe remains to the windpipe. No one really talks; I think they're scared of me, I think they think that I will get the Host to attack them as with the Liver and the Lungs, and the others. I wish they'd just talk to me.
Blood Cells come and go through me, sliding down the veins with glee, careless and carefree. It isn't until the one we inhabit starts working that they begin stressing. Hormones chase the Cells like a bad game of tag, only stopping at their drive thru (me) for a good fill of anger, frustration, and pessimism to distribute to the other wary organs.
And this happens for hours till our host has had enough: a scorching path of alcohol is pencilled next to me in the food pipe; and that's when I hear it: the screech of Mr. Liver. He's almost as old as me, and as important. But once Mr. Conscious decided that the Host was going to focus more on the past and the future, the internal politics evolved into something destructive.
Mr. Liver is shrieking so loud, I can hear it all the way from over here, but not loud enough for the Host or Mr. Subconscious to discern. Thus, follows the acidic words; curse words, and blames, and myths of how this is my fault being hurled at me. Like Loki under the venomous snake, he swore that the day he stopped working, he'd take me down, too.
The Kidney brothers: Left and Right, as sweepers of the Host, take pity on Liver occasionally, and send the Host away to the restrooms. And it's in the absence of intoxication when Mr. Liver screams at me the most.
Nerve-endings snap away, praising the Conscious of his success on our misery. He, in turn, reports to Subconscious that it was my fault, for who listens to their emotions?
The lungs look at me in pity, even as they burn with smoke and die a little. They know I didn't play the tragic memory that required the Host to forget, it was the Conscious; I simply gave the feelings. They know that every time a memory replays, even I suffer. Others can't see, and the nerves refuse to report it because they're scared - but I gain scars, thorns, and knives. I live in pain, because the Conscious refuses to focus on the good, or the present.
I run for the carrots, but I'm running out of time. There are always new things - new carrots - that they want, and I'm always running after them even when all I know that is needed is to stay in the moment. I even tried to tell Mr. Subconscious under the guise of "Mr. Instinct", but Mr. Conscious suppressed me.
However, I also understand why Mr. Conscious did what he did - it was to help the host survive. But when will they understand that I, Mr. Heart, who's beaten but still beatin', isn't their enemy. I want to help them live, not just survive.
And one of these days, I'm gonna scream so loud, that the Subconscious can directly hear me; but in this heart-to-heart with you, I'll leave you with this–
I always understand you, but do you ever understand me?
P.S.: I believe that Heart is a creature of the moment. Past is history, the Future is a mystery, but Present is a present. Our thoughts and belief systems become our viewing lens which make us run after those metaphorical things, those carrots which may not be really what we need, it's just what we want. So, listen to your heart, for it's beating right NOW.
Meet the Author
There's probably a million things to say about us, but that's probably a million things that are like no other. I'm unique, as are you - so, if you really wanna know me - you'd better find me, can't do that here.
Hia Panjabi
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