I’m not sure if I’m going to publish this … might delete later. To my friends or family , if we ever meet, please pretend that you never read this. So do I start with a controversial topic? Raised in a Muslim majority country, I wasn’t exposed to gay people. Do I have a problem with them. No. Should I? They don’t poop on my lawn (sorry dog lovers).
So where is this leading me. I don’t know. I was taught that the very first paragraph should be an introduction in highlighting the main objectives defining your piece. I used to write so beautifully. The vicinity of creative elements in my mind were aligned with my thoughts, and with my rational emotions . Things seemed more put together, effortlessly. Yet, I feel like the orbiting of my words has encountered an inexcusable and unforgivable decline thanks to my remarkable ability to “settle” for situations that have shut me down. Here I am. I’m not negative. And I do take the blame, mostly. Just stating the facts. I really should be working; its my first day back in a week.
There is something that feels forbiddingly comfortable in settling; some sort of security. Maybe a bitter or relieving realization that : this is it, for now. I know this is very vague. Physically settling is not equivalent to cognitively or emotionally settling. Ongoing turbulence, dissatisfaction, greed, frustration, but a triangle of continuous negotiation exists between the mind, heart and soul to settle. I see settling as “living with” vs. “dealing with” a situation. Of course, dealing with something sounds positive, and gives a notion of acclimatization. Are people in a coma dealing with anything? Biologically yes, but what takes place beyond the constructive damage of our cell, meat and bone composure isn’t defined. Living in a coma. Ironic, but makes more sense to me. Your breathing, which means a life event will alter your current condition, eventually.
Not all who wander are lost.
I’ve been a wanderer for quite a while. But lately, I’ve been feeling like I need to do something differently. And this feeling has been haunting me. Daily. For the past year.
I keep getting interrupted. People don’t know how to knock in this office. I need space to think.
If you’re still reading this, I’m here to wander. Not that I have a passion for it, but maybe you’ll find a voice here. And maybe, I’ll figure out where this can possibly lead me. Or us.