The Inconvenient Truth – Chapter 1


Curiosity kills sleep, not cats!
Nothing ruins a lovely romantic dinner like an absolutely pointless question about the past. Since midnight I dived straight into our water-cooled bed mattress and anchored myself to Jade’s bare body, relentlessly pursuing the dormant realm, and failed! Even the soothing sounds by the orchestra of the adjacent chestnut leaves being conducted by the ghastly winds didn’t ease off my attempts to fall asleep. Occasionally, the music of mother nature got hammered by loud echoes of police or ambulance sirens that ran in the background.
Although itchy, my eyes were wide awake and glued to the bright tilted rectangles projected by the early morning sunbeams into our white bedroom ceiling. As the dawn gradually edged the sky from black to dark blue and then bright blue, wiping out the stars from the sky, I relinquished my agitating efforts to transcend into the other life. I lurched out of bed and sat down to write down this peculiar letter, hoping that Jade’s tearful face will eventually obliterate out of the hard disk inside my skull.
It’s 3:48 AM now! Beyond our kitchen windows, the sun embarks its ritual of announcing the birth of the new day, the 26th May of 2087, the dark sky still visible beyond the horizon is gradually disappearing as it shifts from twilight to dusk.
and insomnia defeated me yet again. It isn’t like insomnia gets to visit me often. However, every once in a while, when I’m perfectly relaxed, at ease with my cells and the world that surrounds me, my grey cells have the habit of ruining the moment. Being a psychologist, we know that the mind is the biggest killer of human happiness. Those that use it too much they end up depressed, whereas those that don’t use much they don’t even know what depression means. They simply can’t be bothered to think about depression is and I consider them blessed. In fact, to a certain extent I envy them too and wish I could be like them!
I find rather shocking that the living brain of a deceased scientist costs more to have it transplanted than the one from the ordinary person working on the farm. I’ve come across many people who never tire their neurons or their eyes to read a book, but they look happy. Scientists don’t! Why would someone pay a premium price for an intelligent brain that once belonged to a brilliant to transplanted into their body and end up asking endless questions, which would lead to a miserable life?
It’s the bloody question about past that I stormed into our dinner, wrecking our lovely dinner with Jade and perhaps our relationship. No relationship regardless of how affectionate it is, couldn’t withstand the vigour of the bond wrecking virus called the past and our is no exception. It was the past forced Jad’s tears to erupt and draw parallel lines over her pale cheeks, before she stomped off. It was the past that bit her tongue and kept it muted for the rest of the evening. Every time we end up arguing, Jade has this ruthless ritual of disappearing into our tiny bathroom, locking herself to spend time with her preferred relationship counsellor – our toilet seat.
Jade is my buzzing partner, who pierced into my heart during the third semester of my Bachelor studies at Westminster University after our shoulders collided inadvertently, during my stroll along the south-facing corner of the second floor of our uni library, looking for Freud’s book on dreams. Her books slipped from her hands. Instantly, she kneeled down to pick up her books, and then the contents inside her green rucksack splattered upon the wooden floor, generating an ambiguous clatter.
After releasing a long puff, she muttered anxiously to herself, “Calm down, Jade! Today, it’s not your day”, and began harvesting her personal possessions. It took her less a minute to lift up her head and treat me with a smile. Her timid eyes radiated compassion, shyness and embarrassment. Protruding above her tartan swing dress, Jade’s face, upon which red poxes dwelled, didn’t reflect a certain gleam of beauty. Jade wasn’t the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.
When Jade apologised in her melodic and tender Irish accent, I pointed at her sunglasses splattered above the timber floor. “It is the sunglasses you should apologise to, not me.”
“Shit!” Jade replied as she leashed a rare magnetic smile, peeping out and dimples.
She lifted her hand to cover her dental brace fixed to her teeth, revealing her bitten fingernails. Undeniably, she massacred them. There was hardly any surface left to utilise any nail varnish over them. After placing her belongings back inside her bag, Jade explained that she was anxious about graduating in journalism later that year.
“I hope that you are better with humans because it’s evident that things don’t enjoy your company so much,” I replied pointing at her bag. “Well, at least you’re graduating this year, whereas I am still trying to figure out if psychology is the right profession for me.”
Back then, unsettling doubts regarding my capacity to make the right decisions incessantly kept my mind busy. Even though I regularly attended lectures, my attention span couldn’t stretch out over long periods of time.
My concentration performance resembled that of the dying cell phone batteries that run dead fast. Each time I sat down and opened a book to study, my feet immersed into frantic thumping. I even tried changing reading venues, gone to the uni library, city library, in the nearby Regent Street Park as well as Circle Line underground trains. The first, the second or even the third hour often wasted on merely staring on a single page, without being capable of getting on to the subsequent one.
Back then, I used to question everyone and everything, feeling too little and doubting too much, because of splitting up from Luna.
A lot of people tend to grieve their lost partner. I found myself mourning the cheerful Milo, whom I managed to exile out of my life. After splitting up from Luna, I lacked the hormones that produce the quenching desire to nurture another intimate attachment.
Eight months later, I met Jade, and we continue being madly deeply in love with each other. Being with Jade, I discovered that machines don’t differ much from humans because both require specific prerequisites to undertake particular operations. For a human to fall in love, one must meet the fundamental requirement of not yearning for it.
Love can be born only when one’s expectations about it die!
Similar to a mirage, love fades away the moment you decide to chase it.
And similar to plants that begin rotting when you force too much water into them, love fades away the moment you force too many irrelevant questions on your partner. Why should I care what happened in the past? It wasn’t like I have a time machine that would enable me to travel in the past and change the present or the future.
Being a single parent, my father had an awkward experience with me. Compared to my sister, I happened to be a spoiled brat. At my fifteenth birthday, he jokingly replying to my aunt Suzy that whenever I am asleep, I turn into the child he always dreamt of.
Even though my father’s assertion is valid for most people, Jade happens to be an exception. She occasionally snores, generating a volcanic eruption of incessant, growling rattles. And since tonight was one of her top rumbling performances, my exasperated efforts to leap right into the other life are condemned to fail.
Therefore, half an hour ago, I gave up on sleeping, had a cold shower, poured myself a black coffee and began to write this peculiar letter, hoping it would alleviate me from my frenzied expedition into the bygones.

About the author

Nolan Jazimreg

Nolan Jazimreg is the author of “The Inconvenient Truth”, a highly contentious dystopian novel, which portrays the life of Isa Iri, an orphan tasked with the daunting mission of uniting the humankind through unconventional insights on happiness, freedom, democracy, religion, and ways in which heaven or hell manifest throughout our lives.

Having undergone a unique and rare life experience, Nolan Jazimreg developed a bipolar condition and setbacks that transcended him into the parallel spiritual realm, which due the “veil” bestowed upon them, most adults can’t experience.

Jazimreg was born to an award-winning TV journalist mother, whereas his father worked as Professor of Psychology at the local University.

Jazimreg spent his childhood in a communist system, then his teenage years in socialist one and his adult life in the capitalism.

Before turning 18, Jazimreg met a wonderful person who fulfilled him, but because of religious differences, he was deprived of his first love.

Jazimreg belonged to an ethnic minority and just like others who spoke the same language as did, were discriminated by his state or other individuals that were an ethnic majority.

Gradually, the ethnic tension erupted into a civil war that forced Jazimreg to flee his home and became a refugee in London.

Hoping that it might aspire younger generations to create a better, just and a peaceful world, unlike the painful one that he journeyed through, Jazimreg began inscribing his first novel that reveals unique experiences and a vision about a different civilization that could be accomplished in the future.

Coinciding with his novels, this blog reveals profound insights into how hatred infiltrates us and oppresses our adeptness to live a contented life that will instigate a comprehensive appraisal of preconceived assumptions about happiness, freedom, democracy, religion, but also heaven and hell, the neglected realms that we experience during our lifetimes, but are unaware of it.

“Being a literature major and an occasional writer myself, I am only too aware of how writers are often very shy to the point of being secretive. It is therefore amazing how Nolan Jazimreg, in his second novel, lifts the "veil" (reminiscent of Shelley's) of the "parallel spiritual realm" whereby he was "transcended" by his condition and its ensuing "setbacks". His aim, in his first novel, is truly admirable--it is to "inspire younger generations to create a better, just and peaceful world, unlike the painful one that he journeyed through". Writing these novels were acts of courage, motivated by a selfless desire to spare the generations that are to come after him, from the wrenching pain of growing up from childhood to adulthood, in 3 political systems that are worlds apart, esp. the first and the third. May we laud him for not allowing the loss of his first love and the discrimination he underwent, to embitter and disillusion him. Most people are afraid of what lies behind the "veil", esp. if, by lifting it, the truth will be revealed in all its brilliance. It takes a writer, a courageous one at that, to dare, and to look at the truth. Instead, he has taken the positive step of writing and publishing these experiences, an example some of us would do well to follow. “
Ethel David

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By Nolan Jazimreg

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