I was in a place where everything seemed right and I thought that I had finally found where I belong. Well, this was me being ignorant because what I forgot to factor in is that nothing is ever permanent. The moment we sense that things are going according to us, we start feeling at home, we start believing that nothing can go wrong after that. We couldn’t be more delusional. The truth is that belonging isn’t actually a comfort, because it is temporary. We find people and places that make us feel safe. Maybe it is the corner of a room, or the window that opens to the green divinity of the garden. It is a face, a smile or a habit that creates a home for the soul. But sooner than later, it hits you. You cannot always turn a blind-eye to things, can you? You cannot always live in your fantasies, can you? How long will you stay oblivious of the reality? How long will you dodge it?
Everything temporary vanishes. Everything begins to shift. Reality, it seldom makes a move, it lets you strike out pawn after pawn, lets you enjoy your illusions for a while. That is until reality makes a move because then, it is game over. Check and mate. Your best defense fails to protect you. Hope – your best defense. But hope is deceiving. You hope that your fantasies stay with you forever; that your fantasies become your reality. You hope. You are wrong. Hope doesn’t help. If anything, it entangles you in the cobweb all the more. So much so that it paralyses you.
In the end, all you are left with is a naked truth staring starkly in your face and you have no choice but to accept it. It is never pleasant. The truth rarely is. But the world’s a stage and the men and women merely players, remember? Helpless puppets in the hands of reality.
Now where does the soul go? Where does that feeling of belonging disappear to? Why do we keep chasing it? I write to remember that feeling; to recall as to why I shunned all logic for that one feeling. It is only human to want to belong, I don’t deny that. We find a lot of ways to describe that feeling: friendship, love, family, but a label doesn’t make it any less temporary. I so badly want to remember what it felt like because it has been so long and I am beginning to feel empty. It is frustrating, though. There is no end to the search. Sometimes I wish to just shut my eyes and forget that I have anything to look for. If I can ignore that I’m searching, I can ignore that something is missing. But then there are those dreams, you can’t escape them, however hard you try. I ask myself, if given the choice what would I prefer – to feel or not to feel? I think I would go with the latter. To feel nothing at all would be the happiest feeling ever. A numb heart that couldn’t care less when people would say things that otherwise would have hurt so much, not knowing loneliness, freedom from pain. What more can you ask for?
I am exhausted. I am exhausted of wanting to belong. I am exhausted of trying to reason out with myself. I am exhausted of my flaws. I see people around me, their painted faces and I feel envious. Most of us, we deceive ourselves into believing that we are happy. We want to feel important and we deceive ourselves into believing that we are important. All of us live on distractions. I do, too, but my distractions don’t last long. I get bored very easily. I write to chase those demons away. I write because I know that no one is going to wait on the edge with me. They would be too busy for that. At the end, it is best when you stop wishing that you would soon find that person who would laugh insanely while telling you that it’s okay to jump and it’s okay to be afraid. I write because it helps me be a little less afraid. Every minute spent away from home is a constant struggle. It means crappy hostel food, selfish strangers, confused questions. It means waking up each morning to the same fucked up reality. It means making your cell pone your best friend and trying to keep in touch with familiar souls. It’s accepting the fact that in the beginning you are going to feel lost and there will be wolves trailing not so far behind you. I write to keep myself sane. I write to keep something new alive. As long as I can create something new, I am not a waste. I might not belong, I might be alone but there is that constant hope that given a paper and a pen, my brain can type out phrases that bring me close to that comforting feeling I so desperately crave. It might still just be me alone in the dark, weary eyes, a broken heart and a computer screen but I know that when I write, I can chase those demons away.