Headphones

You know, I think headphones are the most sympathetic invention for teenagers, at least for me. The satisfaction I get when I pull on my headphones and listen to a high tempo metal or rap song when I am boiling with anger, at a volume so loud that music is blaring out of the headphones successfully blocking all other sounds including words of advice, wise talk, judgments or ‘guidance’, in other words, BULLSHIT, from people around me from whom I want to escape from. That satisfaction is a pure pleasure, the type of pleasure you get when you gulp chilled water after running a mile under a scorching sun or when you hug you someone you love after you have been pulled out of a burning house by a brave fire fighter or when you finally collapse on your warm and cozy bed after days and nights of intense work that simply can’t be done in the time given by your brainless boss. 


Its like drugs, you know, when I put my headphones on, cause it gives me the illusion that I am on top of everything in the whole world, no rude-mouth classmates, no pushy parents, no neighbors who love to peep and spy, no smart-ass teachers who consider students as a second-grade specie, the world is that happy place where everything is perfect and everyone is rich, there is no Guantanamo and no black ops, there are no Taliban and no narrow minded Mullahs, no draughts and no drugs, a world where everyone has rights and everybody is equal, a perfect world. 


Headphones are just a cheap gadget with a body of plastic, bones of a metal and no emotions at all. They are a non-living thing in biological terms, they can’t breath, can’t grow, can’t die, can’t reproduce. The best thing is that they can’t make crude and insulting remarks, they can’t degrade you or spoil you mood every time you feel happy and contended, proud about a recent achievement. They can easily be your best friends in the sense that though they don't have the capability to encourage you, they can't discourage you either. 


I don't think I could live without headphones. I would be a miserable wretch, tired of life and all the 'realities' it offers to its unfortunate subjects, wondering if a suicide was a shortcut out of this shit, living days in scare and nights in despair in a deep deep tunnel of reality with no bright end pouring warm sunlight to inspire and aspire me, filling up the magazine with shiny pointy bullets before stuffing it into the gun with a click every morning to take the breath out of my body with a bang, being an asshole and taking my frustration out on those who are weaker than me, making them hurt to crush my own pain that slices through my heart with a razor sharp edge, shooting birds out of the sky and fishes into the sea, cutting my own wrist to let the warm blood flow out like river flooding of its banks onto the pale land that is my skin, and I really would do it all too. 


You know, I think I owe the person who invented this lifesaver. I owe him for keeping me sane and safe, and for giving me enough strength to let those around me live sanely and safely. I owe you man, I owe you a lot.