He had always said "the bigger, the better." He had always looked at my mom's big belly, and petted on her weak shoulders "the bigger, the better." He had always looked at my siblings and me, lining up in the huge farm which we didn't own and said "the bigger, the better."
When I wondered why we were leaving the village and why going to the city was a dream came true, he screamed excitedly "the bigger, the better!" When I asked him about the school that I wasn't admitted to but used to sit under the class's windows overhearing the student's loud screams spiting carelessly the words which I carefully sheltered in my safe haven - brain; he said "the bigger, the better. The streets in the city are bigger. They gonna teach you everything." When I asked why we couldn't borrow the owner's Jeep car to drive us to the city, he said "this is small. The train is huge. The bigger, the better, son!"
When I arrived to the train station, I was bedazzled by how huge this place could be. I thought it was the city and they were so cool to have a roof over the whole city. As soon as I looked down to my toes which were hurting from shoes stepping on them, I realized that I needed shoes which looked bigger than my worn-out slippers. I swallowed too much air which tasted funny. Air tasted like food I wouldn't crave for and grains of dust that I was less filled with back in the village. My eyes scanned people moving too fast. Some wore big coats and looked rich. "The bigger, the better." Some girls wore torn clothes, but they looked clean. Their torn pants were big. Their shoes were big. Their bags were big. "The bigger, the better."
It was too late when my brain started to filter the "I" and "the bigger, the better" out my head. It was too late to realize that everybody stared at me, looking down at me. I wasn't big. I wasn't good. My family used to give me that "big" impression. That's when I realized it was too late to remember I had a family to find and stick with. That's when a policeman pull me by the arm, calling me a thief; which is a word whose translation I had overheard in class: (n.) a person who will be bathing in hell with lava. I cried for my parents. I cried for my siblings. I begged the officer. No use.
I was admitted to what they call "workhouse." It was big. It was the biggest in the street. "The bigger, the better." A huge number of boys stayed there. I had a family bigger than the one I was a part of. My accent shifted to the lifestyle I lived in. I adapted to everything. But my brain couldn't settle. All it thought of was one thing: the streets must be bigger.
Following my ambition, I escaped. I sneaked to the streets that didn't seem as big as the farm I was staying in. I felt disappointed. Then I remembered that dad said this was my school. My own huge school.
After a couple of days of wandering in dark streets, enjoying different soundtracks of songs and hushed screams, a kind man with devilish angry mood swings shoved me into his workshop and taught me how to fix cars. He gave me food and water, and that was the kind side. But he beat the hell out of me whenever a customer was rude to him, had a fight with his wife, life was getting back at him or I did a mistake. Every whip, every punch, every kick was less painful than the one I had a day before. Maybe my body adapted to the circumstances or his health started to crack and let the dust fill in the gaps. He was fat and huge. I didn't know why "the bigger, the better" didn't work with him; maybe the quote applied on the financial good status, no further. He passed away shortly after kicking me out, letting his kids throw fireworks at me.
If one thing I had learnt from that kind man with devilish manners, it would be learning how to drive. It was the only special skill I had to give employers a reason to hire me. One day I was offered to choose which car I was capable to drive, and I chose the biggest, with the chorus playing in my head "the bigger, the better." I drove the lorry for months. I had little amount of money. Though my friends spent theirs on drugs, I didn't join them and still the money seemed insufficient to me. I never wanted to get high with them. I wanted to document my road to "the bigger, the better" fully conscious.
I kept on working hard, accepting extra shifts, till one day I jumped from my lorry to get the cheapest drink from gas station, and met a modest well-dressed man. He introduced himself to me and I felt weak! I felt like I should kneel. It was the first time to feel like a foolish sinner. The man smiled and said "we're mates, bud!"
"Oh, sir! I wish." I said sheepishly.
The man almost had a heart attack from how hard he laughed. He coughed and said "man! I am a driver just like you!" He pointed at the Mercedes car parking next to the lorry, and said "just a driver!"
"But this is a small car. You should be paid less than I do and you dress like that? I drive that big babe," and I pointed at my car. He laughed even harder and said "how old are you?-" he didn't wait for my answer, he continued "people like us don't age. Their insides develop wrinkles and their outside freezes at what the customer wanna see. Anyway, my point is, it's not about the size, pal. It is about the value. This small car is way more expensive than your huge vehicle. The owner of the small car cares about himself and who serves him personally more than this 1 in 1000 men he has in the factory to ship his products."
I stayed open mouthed. It was hard to drink what he has just vomited. He smiled for the last time, paid for a Pepsi can which he left in my hand and hurried to his car as he answered the phone.
From that day on, "the bigger, the better" was my daily nightmare. The bigger my loans got, the worse my state became. The bigger my belly got while my limbs were stick-like, the easier the pain electrified my nerves, burning my senses into ashy complaints poured out to the doctor. The bigger my worries grew, the more my confidence belittled my potentials and demeaned my abilities.
One night I pulled the lorry over the side road, ran to the plain darkness of the desert, hit my chest to free my caged screams. Rolled on the sand which was smoother than the thorns I had been sleeping on. I looked to the sky with the tears hazing my vision. They slowly let go of my lashes. One by one. Hot drops ran down my face to my neck, down to my body. I sighed and blew every atom around me away. With clearer vision I stared at the moon. "The bigger it glows, the better it looks," I chuckled. Maybe I am not the moon. Maybe I am the sun. The bigger I get, the more I burn. The brighter I shine, the more will avoid looking at me. If I am ever the sun who wants to be a moon, I have to climb up and reach the sky! I ran to the lorry, climbed it, stood on its roof, tiptoed to gain height, stretched my fingers to the sky. Higher and higher. The moon seemed closer. Bigger. Closer. Bigger.
Silence deafened me. The white blinded me. The lightness of my head licked every glimpse of photographic memory I held on to. That's what the biggest is the best to feel like. The biggest end is the best relief. Or maybe I will be proven wrong in the afterlife.
When I wondered why we were leaving the village and why going to the city was a dream came true, he screamed excitedly "the bigger, the better!" When I asked him about the school that I wasn't admitted to but used to sit under the class's windows overhearing the student's loud screams spiting carelessly the words which I carefully sheltered in my safe haven - brain; he said "the bigger, the better. The streets in the city are bigger. They gonna teach you everything." When I asked why we couldn't borrow the owner's Jeep car to drive us to the city, he said "this is small. The train is huge. The bigger, the better, son!"
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| Shia LaBeouf watching Shia LaBeouf GIFs |
When I arrived to the train station, I was bedazzled by how huge this place could be. I thought it was the city and they were so cool to have a roof over the whole city. As soon as I looked down to my toes which were hurting from shoes stepping on them, I realized that I needed shoes which looked bigger than my worn-out slippers. I swallowed too much air which tasted funny. Air tasted like food I wouldn't crave for and grains of dust that I was less filled with back in the village. My eyes scanned people moving too fast. Some wore big coats and looked rich. "The bigger, the better." Some girls wore torn clothes, but they looked clean. Their torn pants were big. Their shoes were big. Their bags were big. "The bigger, the better."
It was too late when my brain started to filter the "I" and "the bigger, the better" out my head. It was too late to realize that everybody stared at me, looking down at me. I wasn't big. I wasn't good. My family used to give me that "big" impression. That's when I realized it was too late to remember I had a family to find and stick with. That's when a policeman pull me by the arm, calling me a thief; which is a word whose translation I had overheard in class: (n.) a person who will be bathing in hell with lava. I cried for my parents. I cried for my siblings. I begged the officer. No use.
I was admitted to what they call "workhouse." It was big. It was the biggest in the street. "The bigger, the better." A huge number of boys stayed there. I had a family bigger than the one I was a part of. My accent shifted to the lifestyle I lived in. I adapted to everything. But my brain couldn't settle. All it thought of was one thing: the streets must be bigger.
Following my ambition, I escaped. I sneaked to the streets that didn't seem as big as the farm I was staying in. I felt disappointed. Then I remembered that dad said this was my school. My own huge school.
After a couple of days of wandering in dark streets, enjoying different soundtracks of songs and hushed screams, a kind man with devilish angry mood swings shoved me into his workshop and taught me how to fix cars. He gave me food and water, and that was the kind side. But he beat the hell out of me whenever a customer was rude to him, had a fight with his wife, life was getting back at him or I did a mistake. Every whip, every punch, every kick was less painful than the one I had a day before. Maybe my body adapted to the circumstances or his health started to crack and let the dust fill in the gaps. He was fat and huge. I didn't know why "the bigger, the better" didn't work with him; maybe the quote applied on the financial good status, no further. He passed away shortly after kicking me out, letting his kids throw fireworks at me.
If one thing I had learnt from that kind man with devilish manners, it would be learning how to drive. It was the only special skill I had to give employers a reason to hire me. One day I was offered to choose which car I was capable to drive, and I chose the biggest, with the chorus playing in my head "the bigger, the better." I drove the lorry for months. I had little amount of money. Though my friends spent theirs on drugs, I didn't join them and still the money seemed insufficient to me. I never wanted to get high with them. I wanted to document my road to "the bigger, the better" fully conscious.
I kept on working hard, accepting extra shifts, till one day I jumped from my lorry to get the cheapest drink from gas station, and met a modest well-dressed man. He introduced himself to me and I felt weak! I felt like I should kneel. It was the first time to feel like a foolish sinner. The man smiled and said "we're mates, bud!"
"Oh, sir! I wish." I said sheepishly.
The man almost had a heart attack from how hard he laughed. He coughed and said "man! I am a driver just like you!" He pointed at the Mercedes car parking next to the lorry, and said "just a driver!"
"But this is a small car. You should be paid less than I do and you dress like that? I drive that big babe," and I pointed at my car. He laughed even harder and said "how old are you?-" he didn't wait for my answer, he continued "people like us don't age. Their insides develop wrinkles and their outside freezes at what the customer wanna see. Anyway, my point is, it's not about the size, pal. It is about the value. This small car is way more expensive than your huge vehicle. The owner of the small car cares about himself and who serves him personally more than this 1 in 1000 men he has in the factory to ship his products."
I stayed open mouthed. It was hard to drink what he has just vomited. He smiled for the last time, paid for a Pepsi can which he left in my hand and hurried to his car as he answered the phone.
From that day on, "the bigger, the better" was my daily nightmare. The bigger my loans got, the worse my state became. The bigger my belly got while my limbs were stick-like, the easier the pain electrified my nerves, burning my senses into ashy complaints poured out to the doctor. The bigger my worries grew, the more my confidence belittled my potentials and demeaned my abilities.
One night I pulled the lorry over the side road, ran to the plain darkness of the desert, hit my chest to free my caged screams. Rolled on the sand which was smoother than the thorns I had been sleeping on. I looked to the sky with the tears hazing my vision. They slowly let go of my lashes. One by one. Hot drops ran down my face to my neck, down to my body. I sighed and blew every atom around me away. With clearer vision I stared at the moon. "The bigger it glows, the better it looks," I chuckled. Maybe I am not the moon. Maybe I am the sun. The bigger I get, the more I burn. The brighter I shine, the more will avoid looking at me. If I am ever the sun who wants to be a moon, I have to climb up and reach the sky! I ran to the lorry, climbed it, stood on its roof, tiptoed to gain height, stretched my fingers to the sky. Higher and higher. The moon seemed closer. Bigger. Closer. Bigger.
Silence deafened me. The white blinded me. The lightness of my head licked every glimpse of photographic memory I held on to. That's what the biggest is the best to feel like. The biggest end is the best relief. Or maybe I will be proven wrong in the afterlife.
