As the evanescent rays of a benign morning sun gingerly filter in through the myriad leaves forming the benevolent canopy in my little backyard haven, vacant thoughts begin to shift to a pensive mode of contemplative flirtation. In the pervading stream of consciousness, I begin to take cognizance of the multitudinous twists and turns that have been the crux of my life so far in this secular journey. Now more so especially since we are all unceremoniously huddled together in a limbo-like trance at the crossroads of life, fearing to take another step forward, debating the consequences of doing so.
It is only natural, and too easy, to be trapped in the labyrinthian maze of superfluous thoughts and suddenly at a tangent to it all, this one thought hits me – where does football fit into the entire scheme of things now when human beings are falling like 10 pins in a world that’s already grossly inundated by endemic wars, uprisings, natural disasters and what have you?
What, after all, is this thing called life?
For someone who has traversed the corridor of Time for over six decades, it might seem a trifle odd to pose a metaphysical question like that at this juncture. Yet, beyond the mundane and secular trappings of daily existence, life ultimately is indeed still that unending, querulous quest for answers in the attempt for redemption and amelioration of the self. This is invariably and inescapably needful, at least I am opined to believe, in view of this horrendous coronavirus pandemic of seemingly apocalyptic dimensions that seems to be devouring all and sundry in its destructive path.
Ours is now indeed a search that ought to be primed to motivate us to probe the mysteries pertaining to ourselves and everything around us that is the macrocosm of life itself. I am inadvertently assailed by a barrage of questions that are, for some inexplicable reasons, primarily existentialist in nature as I try not to allow the paranoia shrouding the pandemic to engulf me in its viciousness.
13-gallon tall garbage bags: A moment of epiphany?
Ultimately, I am now inclined to opine that the basic tenet centric to a meaningful life is finding, and striking, the right balance between secular tangibles and unquantifiable intangibles that should rightfully offer us incomparable joy, inner peace and harmony. More appropriately the intangibles like the love for something larger than ourselves. And it all comes down to where it all begins – the place we call home.
At the end of the day, it’s all really about 13-gallon tall garbage bags.
The symbolism of this metaphor is most apt in likening one’s life, home and family to these articles used day in and day out in our lives perennially to stack away the refuse accumulated in just one day of our existence.
Why the 13-gallon tall garbage bags, one may well ask?
Simply because they are the least noticed, and possibly least appreciated, items symbolic of the flux of activities in any family environment. They play an integral role indispensable in cleaning up the leftover residue of our lives in our beloved homes.
Each 13-gallon tall garbage bag starts off its life of servitude empty and clean. Yet by the end of a fruitful, or perhaps not, wholesome family day, it ends up full, stacking to the brim the leftovers each member of the family has invariably contributed to. These 13-gallon tall garbage bags fulfill daily their humble, ignominious utilitarian purpose of serving the entire family and await their disposal at the end of each day.
Beginning and ending each momentous day with our tell-tale 13-gallon tall garbage bags
All we need to do is empty the contents and there would be innumerable tales of home to tell. Tales involving every member of the family. Of love, joy and harmony. Then there are those that portray sordid, unhappy tales of dissent, disunity and a discordant meltdown of relationships. The 13-gallon tall garbage bags are the vigilant, silent witnesses quietly observing all that transpires daily in our homes.
And why 13 gallons?
That’s really because a large storage capacity is required to stash away all that a family goes through in just one normal day of existence. Anything smaller in size just would not suffice.
So, the next time you look at a 13-gallon tall garbage bag, try to appreciate it as an indispensable member of your home. It is, after all, the time-trusted raconteur of your family and its journals.
At the end of another day of existential subsistence in our sojourn on this earth, regardless of the barrage of upheavals and adversities that threaten to throw our composure into disarray at this crucial time, it is now perhaps the best time in our lives lived so far to just sit back and appreciate those around us, be they family or friends.
It is time to just enjoy, and spread, the love for the betterment of a world we all jointly own … and still live in.
Its’s not all about football.