Is it enough to be a watcher?
A beautiful visual must be accompanied by a physical sensation, otherwise it would be enough to look at an image of a mountain without feeling the height of it and smelling the air from the top.
Often we see pictures of the earth and the mind generates a thought, ‘I want to go there’.
I was alone.
Things had been tense at the house for a while… and so I was alone to avoid the “tense-ness”, so to speak. I was not alone because I wanted to be.
The rain was pouring down outdoors, making contact in comforting sounds to the exterior of the building.
I sat staring at my computer screen in hopes of something. I didn’t know what. Eventually, through a few aimless clicks, I landed up reading a very short story, about a man who fell in love with the idea of a stranger.
I remembered falling in love with the idea of a stranger once.
He used to come to the beach and write in his car every morning – just like me. One day he didn’t come to the beach… and I never saw him again.
I noticed some tears slide their way down my cheeks.
I could hear the loud invasive cacophony of the television set in the living-room where my partner watched other imaginary lives being lived.
Free Writing – Do it!
Labels get thrown around fairly free and easy in this life.
I’m sure you have categorized or been categorized by others on many occasions during your time on earth.
The first time I felt my category change in an emotionally confronting way, was when I quit my career to move to a new city and start a business with my friend.
I had to take up a cleaning job to pay the bills. Going from corporate sophisticated/ laptop toting garb to dressing like a teenager and scrubbing walls was by no means emotionally easy… especially the way that people looked at and treated me so entirely differently to what I was used to. I eventually got back to wearing court shoes and and carrying laptop cases from office to office, but little did I know…
I was only to repeat the mortifying category shift experience again.
Only this time in a new country, where nobody really knew who I was or what I’d done in the past… and only had my current circumstances to judge me by.
Imagine your own flat mate hiding the wine glasses from you!
(yes this actually happened) as she assumed my occasional glass of an evening was a 24 hour a day habit due to my (at the time) unemployed status.
And this is even before moving to a street that even the real estate agent seemed afraid of.
A lovely street where dogs run loose, the sound of neighborhood swearing carries throughout the suburb and tales of resident’s unsavory pastimes seem only the norm.
The vibe was so foreign to me at first, and altogether terrifying to be honest.
But as time goes on, I have made peace (in part) to the situation and hence the hoodie and ripped jeans (below photo – when in Rome, right?). Let it be acknowledged though, that the wine bottle is all for show, despite what my ex-flatmate might try to insinuate. God knows I wish I could say the same for the cigarette…
The ones you seek comfort from complain of suffocation.
You sit alone in the dark and the creeps crawl towards the sanctuary of your shadow.
I was taking the scenic train ride from my town of residence into the big city and while admiring the beautiful view of woodlands and waterways, a traumatic experience I had the previous weekend rose to memory, which seemed so surreal in contrast.
My first real assignment of the year was due by midnight Sunday. I hadn’t started yet and it was Friday evening, my meeting that afternoon had gone way over schedule. Needless to say, tensions were high.
It just so happened, as things always seem to do – with that perfectly inconvenient timing – that my partner and I had a rather immense falling out. I was sure that this would mean my whole world would soon be changed forever and we would break-up for good. It would mean facing the second major heartbreak of my life, and catching a one way ticket to the little country I grew up in.
The situation left me so emotionally distraught that I was certain my dreams of graduating university (or at the very least passing this paper) would all die with my inability to complete my assignment in the face of real-life misery.
Queue the mask of (in)sanity. Spoiler alert… I manged to finish the assignment. But I didn’t finish it as the woman with relationship troubles and butterflies in her stomach. I played a game, wore a mask, acted like I was somebody else. This time I was an eccentric scholar of English Literature. Over qualified for the assignment in front of me, I read out loud putting on a poor excuse for an English accent, explaining the questions and deducing answers while explaining the process to imaginary confused and needy students (ironically – my true identity).
After the assignment was complete, I slipped back to reality, and yes I may have searched out the house for alcohol or chocolate and curled up on the floor in tears trying to wrap my head around my possibly destroyed romantic future, but the assignment was done – thanks to the mask.
Have you ever used a mask or alternative persona to get what needed doing done?