Why Am I Here?
"Why am I here?" This question has haunted me since the day I thought it. It haunts me because I don't know. In fact, the reality is that anything that I don't know haunts me. It's just the way my mind works. It's just the way I am.
I am Adon. I am a slave. I am not treated like a person but rather a machine. I don't know why. This haunts me. These same sentences I speak each day. I speak these because it makes me wonder, wondering expresses joy and I love joy. Wondering also passes time, lots and lots of time. That's why I like wondering. Now I have told something. I have told something to someone I don't know. This is something that I enjoy, not because it passes time, but instead, it is a way of expressing myself. I don't express myself often. I speak short, I speak simple and that is my life. I do not try to think of anything beyond. Thinking this way makes me sad. Sadness is my enemy.
Now that I have told you something I will tell you more. I haven't told anybody more. Now I will tell you more than I have ever told anyone before. Let me first explain that I never told anyone more than a few sentences at a time. A few sentences is three or four. I have told you more than ten. This is more than I have ever told anyone ever. Of course, I did not do this to tell about fifteen short, simple sentences, I came to tell a story. Mind you, this story is short as I have already surpassed the amount I wanted to say, but I must tell all of it as it gives me joy to tell.
This day was boring. As we neared harvest time for our section of the farm, the tobacco section (this happened to be the largest), the days got boring. That day I thought something I had never thought before, "no day is ever exciting, so why distinguish the two," I had never thought this way before. At first this scared me but I realized that this statement was true and now this day was just a day, it was no longer a boring day. I hadn't time for this because today we had work to do. But this brought me back to what I was thinking earlier, "we work everyday so why is it that we have "work" anyway?" This happened with most things that day and I knew I was right about all of it.
That night I thought about my "discoveries" and wondered why I hadn't discovered them sooner. That's when I heard screams. I soon realized that they were coming from what us slaves nicknamed "the inn." For whatever reason some slave huts were bigger than others; "the inn" was the biggest. Soon I saw people outside "the inn," they were in awe. Let me remind you that this plantation I am on is huge. It is 2,000 acres and it holds over 250 slaves, it grows 4 different crops, it's bigger than the eye can see. So there were probably 30 of us all huddled around "the inn." It was on fire. We had no water. These things don't end well.
At first I was in shock. My uncle was in there. "I have to get my uncle" I thought over and over again. For one brief second I actually thought that I could go into a blazing fire, get my uncle, who I could not lift, and get out alive. This idea was put to rest. Many ideas were put to rest. Too many ideas, too many ideas that had me dying. Finally one came to me, it came to me while I was trying to put my mind off Uncle. It came swiftly and it was executed to perfection. Well, my hard and sneaky part was executed to perfection, but his part was not. His part couldn't have been performed any worse. His part was performed by my once good friend, the master's nephew. I care not to call him by name, he is a disgrace to me but he lead me to know many things exclusive to White folk. One of these things was how to get into the master's mansion. There was a back way. You had to go through the basement. I'd seen him call this way his "secret hideout" and the way was always open. Stupid I say, pure ignorance to leave a door wide open that leads to your prized mansion but, nevertheless, it was there. I went in.
When I went in I went fast. Going fast kept my mind moving, away from bad thoughts, away from Uncle. I reached his bed "Get out," he said, I stayed in. "Get out!" he said, this time he was firm. Again, I stayed put. I was not afraid of his taunts. "GET OUT!" he screamed. This sound pierced my ears and now they screamed in pain. I gave up. There was no reason to tell what won't be heard. I will never be heard by that man. He would never listen! Not if it meant a slave's life. In this case it meant multiple slaves' lives. HE DID NOT WANT TO HEAR, SO HE NEVER HEARD! He paid for it, in shillings. Not in memories, not in heartbrake, like us slaves, but in SHILLINGS and POUNDS and ONLY shillings and pounds!
The next day my uncle was gone. Forever. We buried his body right where he was when we found him. It was a good spot. I like that spot. We buried two others as well. This was a sad day. I severely dislike sadness. In days after that day I began to ponder the difficult question once again, "Why am I here?" Is it for sadness and sorrows? No. I now feel today as I tell this that I am not here for sadness. For a while I thought this. Now I have changed. I ran away soon after that day. I felt no need for that place. It did not help help me answer my life question. With becoming free I thought it would answer my question, but in my freedom I still wonder why I am here. It haunts me.
I am Adon. I am a slave. I am not treated like a person but rather a machine. I don't know why. This haunts me. These same sentences I speak each day. I speak these because it makes me wonder, wondering expresses joy and I love joy. Wondering also passes time, lots and lots of time. That's why I like wondering. Now I have told something. I have told something to someone I don't know. This is something that I enjoy, not because it passes time, but instead, it is a way of expressing myself. I don't express myself often. I speak short, I speak simple and that is my life. I do not try to think of anything beyond. Thinking this way makes me sad. Sadness is my enemy.
Now that I have told you something I will tell you more. I haven't told anybody more. Now I will tell you more than I have ever told anyone before. Let me first explain that I never told anyone more than a few sentences at a time. A few sentences is three or four. I have told you more than ten. This is more than I have ever told anyone ever. Of course, I did not do this to tell about fifteen short, simple sentences, I came to tell a story. Mind you, this story is short as I have already surpassed the amount I wanted to say, but I must tell all of it as it gives me joy to tell.
This day was boring. As we neared harvest time for our section of the farm, the tobacco section (this happened to be the largest), the days got boring. That day I thought something I had never thought before, "no day is ever exciting, so why distinguish the two," I had never thought this way before. At first this scared me but I realized that this statement was true and now this day was just a day, it was no longer a boring day. I hadn't time for this because today we had work to do. But this brought me back to what I was thinking earlier, "we work everyday so why is it that we have "work" anyway?" This happened with most things that day and I knew I was right about all of it.
That night I thought about my "discoveries" and wondered why I hadn't discovered them sooner. That's when I heard screams. I soon realized that they were coming from what us slaves nicknamed "the inn." For whatever reason some slave huts were bigger than others; "the inn" was the biggest. Soon I saw people outside "the inn," they were in awe. Let me remind you that this plantation I am on is huge. It is 2,000 acres and it holds over 250 slaves, it grows 4 different crops, it's bigger than the eye can see. So there were probably 30 of us all huddled around "the inn." It was on fire. We had no water. These things don't end well.
At first I was in shock. My uncle was in there. "I have to get my uncle" I thought over and over again. For one brief second I actually thought that I could go into a blazing fire, get my uncle, who I could not lift, and get out alive. This idea was put to rest. Many ideas were put to rest. Too many ideas, too many ideas that had me dying. Finally one came to me, it came to me while I was trying to put my mind off Uncle. It came swiftly and it was executed to perfection. Well, my hard and sneaky part was executed to perfection, but his part was not. His part couldn't have been performed any worse. His part was performed by my once good friend, the master's nephew. I care not to call him by name, he is a disgrace to me but he lead me to know many things exclusive to White folk. One of these things was how to get into the master's mansion. There was a back way. You had to go through the basement. I'd seen him call this way his "secret hideout" and the way was always open. Stupid I say, pure ignorance to leave a door wide open that leads to your prized mansion but, nevertheless, it was there. I went in.
When I went in I went fast. Going fast kept my mind moving, away from bad thoughts, away from Uncle. I reached his bed "Get out," he said, I stayed in. "Get out!" he said, this time he was firm. Again, I stayed put. I was not afraid of his taunts. "GET OUT!" he screamed. This sound pierced my ears and now they screamed in pain. I gave up. There was no reason to tell what won't be heard. I will never be heard by that man. He would never listen! Not if it meant a slave's life. In this case it meant multiple slaves' lives. HE DID NOT WANT TO HEAR, SO HE NEVER HEARD! He paid for it, in shillings. Not in memories, not in heartbrake, like us slaves, but in SHILLINGS and POUNDS and ONLY shillings and pounds!
The next day my uncle was gone. Forever. We buried his body right where he was when we found him. It was a good spot. I like that spot. We buried two others as well. This was a sad day. I severely dislike sadness. In days after that day I began to ponder the difficult question once again, "Why am I here?" Is it for sadness and sorrows? No. I now feel today as I tell this that I am not here for sadness. For a while I thought this. Now I have changed. I ran away soon after that day. I felt no need for that place. It did not help help me answer my life question. With becoming free I thought it would answer my question, but in my freedom I still wonder why I am here. It haunts me.
CREDITS FOR THIS PAGE
http://www.artofmanliness.com/2012/11/26/manly-honor-part-v-honor-in-the-american-south/