I wanted to communicate. I wanted to reach out. That’s a desire that bubbles up in my heart.
I want to connect with people. I want to tell them something.
I want to get lost inside a crowd, but still with an ample space for me to do what I want and be what I am.
I find comfort in hearing noises, all at the same time, looking at movements, stories.
I love spending time in a group of people without anyone, without knowing a name.
I love seeing strange faces.
As long as I always know how to get back, as long as I know I have someone waiting for me.
As long as I have a place, a person to call a home
My boat will probably keep sailing on that one condition, an anchor.
I have always been in love with children’s books. There’s something beautifully magical about them: everything is written in a whimsy that can be absurd but relatable.
I wish we all can be beautifully absurd and genuine at the same time.
I wish we can speak our feeling frankly without being tainted by fear, malice, doubts, anger and all the feelings that covers the adult heart.
I wish we can all look into the sky and spot magical things streaming into the great, wide blue, without thinking of what time it is and how much money is running away from our pockets.
I wish that we stop keeping score. And I wish that though we age, we’ll never grow old for these books.
It has been said that nothing is real
until it is observed
That something exists once it is defined
Unconsciously our brain weaves different
thoughts of realities, facts and fiction
ideas and notions, toppling each other
like a stack of blocks
We are left confused which is true.
It is normal for a human being to calculate life
Just as if it was some sort of a math problem
Logic teaches us that everything will be answered by a number
But even sciences argue, pulling each other’s hair
because even they have their own logic to stand by
The universe is too much for a human mind to digest
I wonder. If I have been a braver, tougher little girl and not a quiet, wet-blanket drop of sugar in the corner, maybe, I was a better, person. Strong. Tough. Demanding. And very much mature.
I wonder. If I faced all those girls torturing me with their existence with fierceness, would I be less afraid. Would I be less sensitive. Would I grow thorns and scales like they did, and would I hurt someone whose soul is identically like mine; afraid, bruised and eager to run away?
I wonder. If my mom was less in-control of everything, if I had the freedom to choose my way, if I have seen my options of who I am to become without the chains of restraints; perhaps I am more than just a normal face in the crowd. I’d be soaking in my own career and busy growing up and growing rich.
I wonder. If I did not choose the kind, geeky, invisible friends I had since high school, would I find the real meaning of friendship? Will I be able to enjoy anything other than the quiet moments and the snickering behind a Pea-brained teacher who’s actually a genius? Will I find a spot somewhere in the girly, popular club instead of the gloomier art club I am in? I already have the answer.