Taking one hour at a time

I will never forget the day that I finally went paint balling. You are probably judging my choice of story but a little background information should put it into context. I’m from a place where the people like rituals; 7 predictable days of the week.

Monday to Friday at 6.15 am
If you loathe the morning traffic, you must leave at this time or before. A minute later and you’re trapped in the 6 lane traffic barely making it passed the 30 km/hour mark. The lanes will be packed with those yellow public buses that seem to have agreed on playing that generic morning show that still manages to stir up passionate conversation. The street hawker will try selling to you the newest magazine or a car charger cum USB port for your musical needs that three of his colleagues tried selling to you just two minutes before. On the flip side, you will finally get to reread that billboard and finally get the terms and conditions that apply.

Sunday
Beautiful cars carrying beautified people are en route to even more intricately beautified Churches. The Churches look like the local florist and draper sponsored the event. The florist scent in the air and the draper's magic on the walls.
After church, those families from Service gather at the supermarket to stock up for the apocalypse that is the week. Trolleys are so on demand and now that I think of it, I am should start a business in trolley renting; put up a little kiosk at the side of the supermarket have booming business and become a millionaire from Africa who saw a need in the market (supermarket) and then write a bestselling book on how to spot niches in markets with a fun title like ‘How far are you ‘wheeling’ to go'.
At the Sunday eat-out, words like ‘family-pack’ and ‘combo number 4’ get thrown around. The earlier beautified kids are covered in sugar treats and will begin smelling like a day well spent.

Then it’s back to Monday and the cycle continues.

So as I hid behind that old sun burnt tyre with paint balls flying past me, I wondered what possessed me to leave my routine. I would be stuck in traffic but with the assurance that in 79 seconds, the green light will set us free for 36 seconds. I then thought that is what life is; 5.6 liters of pure red rushing through the intricate network around your body, sweaty palms that acknowledge you being out of that comfort, hope that you might actually capture the flag and get to rub it into the other teams face and live to tell your grandchildren...Or lose the game.