MORNING REFLECTIONS...

August 15th, 12,006 (actual time frame: 9:29PM, Sunday; February 4th, 2007)
___________________________________________________________________

So much is going on today, I don't know where to begin. Last night, I promised my mom that I would go and grab a power converter for my pesky younger brother, Trell, this morning. But you know...?

I hate mornings.

I woke up this morning, irritatingly aware that the alarm clock was going off again. I thought my brother had taken care of the problem which plagues its archaic functions, but I guess not.

I silenced the damn thing with my boot--knocking it off with one clean shot. (Don't fault me: I've made it my life to be a pretty good shot. This life of mine is unforgiving and therefore doesn't offer much in the way of a comfortable quarter.)

Afterwards, I got up and began to move on my own accord--well aware that early mornings did not improve my mood much. I usually preferred to sleep in; and worked much better when I got a full night's sleep (as my host memories typically pointed out many times), but this morning I would have to make an exception to the rule.

It was my choice. One that I would have to live with.

My own room is bare of anything you would recognize. There isn't anything like what you have in terms of personal items or something symbolic which would reflect the times we all live in.

My time has sheltered me in ways that you couldn't possibly comprehend or guess at. But it is a world which I had grown up with--living on very little and making every things we have count.

In some ways, my host's living conditions and mine aren't all that dissimilar. We both have been raised in poverty, we both had to struggle to make a living, and each of us faced insurmountable odds to get where we are today.

By far where he is a writer and a dreamer of things, I am a teenager whose own dreams stretch to the mundane and obvious: To become a legendary auto-frame pilot.

My father, Kelin, is a great man. As far as I can recall, he was also an auto-frame pilot like I am now. And though--when I look at the pictures in the hallway from time to time--I wonder if there was something more about my father which I don't know myself. Don't get me wrong, I remember my father being a wise and strong man; someone I could grow up to emulate to some degree. (Which I have. My mother tells me often that I have adopted the same stubborn streak that my father had when they first married so long ago. It's a worrisome trait--for children to inherit from their parents. But in this world of mine, it's always better to have something which will either protect you or assist your at every step of the way in life--than to have nothing at all.)

I became an auto-frame pilot in part to honor my father's memory. No, he isn't dead. Just...gone.

Torn from my life so callously, without reason, without word. And leaving both my family and myself without a father figure in which to grow up with.

And like my host, I also retreated into a world of fantasy and make-believe--all in an attempt to make a desperation connection to the world I live in now, to events of the past which seems so far apart from the life I know.

It's silly...being caught up in childish dreams of make-believe, wishing that there was something that you could've done to change events.

But I guess that--in my case--there was nothing I could've done to stop the Praetorial Guard from taking my father away from his little girl. It crushed my mother, but had a devastating effect on me.

I felt powerless!

There were days when I wish I had the power to change events, to rescue my father, and to really put the scare of God into those who have wronged us so. But I keep finding myself shaking an admonishing finger at my younger selves--and telling them that it isn't just so anymore.

People and this desolate world I live in...doesn't give much in the ways of opportunities. We all have to make our own destinies.

And like me, my host is doing what he can to make his own--though I get the impression that not many people understand his overall objectives.

Believe it or not, my mother did not understand my desire to become an auto-frame pilot the first time out either. She said that I lacked the training and full understanding of what becoming a pilot really meant.

I had always believed that becoming one would entail me to riches and fame beyond my own dreams of wanting and avarice. But I've found that--in life--things didn't always turn out the way we've wanted or originally thought.

However, I'm pleased to say that I've managed to make a comfortable living myself in a short time. I don't have much in the ways of money or material possessions.

As I've stated before, my room is pretty much devoid of that. In fact, I don't think I would know what to do with such things if I had them to begin with.

A sentiment shared with my host. He has led a life of living with the bare essentials. I wonder--if he had more money available to him--what would he do if he had the option of acquiring such things.

Based on the fact that he has a book to sell in a few years, he may get that chance.

But even if he doesn't, I know that it doesn't matter.

Wealth and fame can be a useful tool, but as I know all too well, it can also be very destructive.

I'll post some more later as soon as I get dressed. There's a lot going on, and I need to think with a clear head if I'm going to make it Shark's Bay by myself.


Isis