Have you ever sat in silence contemplating who you are, what do you seek, what makes you the person you are, why are you always navigating round and about aboard a sinking ship in a choppy sea, why is melancholy your shadow, or does she precede your existence, why is it so hard to be ever happy, why does happiness evade you? I must rephrase my question for it isn’t in silence that you sit. Silence, plausibly, to an external observer, while a destructive tempest rages inside your heart, your mind, damaging your senses, your sanity. If not then I must say you are a blessed soul.
My Chemistry teacher from my high school once told me, ‘Don’t think! It is dangerous to’ over a trifle matter. Little did I know then this should by all means be my greatest life lesson and, apologetically, I must say, I never learnt. I could never master controlling the floodgates of thinking and I am always drowning, gasping for air, sinking, floating in the rush of thoughts. You may ask ‘what bothers you’. I truthfully don’t know. May be I was programmed this way and reset I cannot. Thus the overpowering desire for an escapade to some distant mountain far from reality, far from everyone and everything I know. Is my happiness strangely linked to a few? Mustn’t it stem from my existence, my own self?
Now, from the little that I have come to understand myself, I am certain that as much as happiness evades me I am rather terrified of embracing happiness. Never permanent, always short-lived that happiness is, I am frightened of being happy lest flying high in a bright blue sky of bliss, the winds propelling me suddenly change course that I come crashing down and with every fall my life is hued in darker shades of blue. Weren’t it better if I were to stay in my hole of solitude, at peace, perhaps, with my own self? You may disagree. But I am a scared little person inside and the best I can do is build walls around me that don’t necessarily protect me but don’t reveal my vulnerability. You with your chisel of charm and words may chance upon a crack in the wall and chip away a hole to chance upon the vulnerable me, naked, clinging wistfully onto your charm; your faith rekindles the otherwise dying flame of hope and then you are gone, leaving a hole in the wall, a mirror to the hole in my heart, in my soul. It doesn’t kill me and no it doesn’t me stronger either. I go further numb from numb.
‘All Good Things Come To An End’. You would argue that good things end and better things begin. What if they don’t, what if good things end and utter darkness surrounds you? The flame of hope loses its sheen, and in the blackness I gather the broken pieces of the wall, rebuilding it and yet again I miss a crack for the ‘Same Mistake’ to occur again.
No it isn’t you that I am fighting, it is me.