Just something of a personal diary
I’ve always liked stars. I remember I used to live in the country, and with the lack of buildings and streets lamps around it was so much easier to count them: a series of luminescent dots spread out across the arch of the night sky; imagine someone flicked a paintbrush of white paint at a completely black canvas and you have the idea. I remember I used to sit there, sitting under it all, and stare up at them, just floating there serene and majestic in the hallow, echoing beauty of space. I’d imagine what it was like in the older times, back far enough for there to be the absense of electricity, and wonder what travellering merchants and adventurers would see as they travelled the wide expanse of uncharted lands: would they feel the same awe that I do? The same longing for connection with the constelations and nebulae in the dark? In all honesty, I wish I was there with them. In this modern world, where we all like mindlessly type away in cubicles like worker bees in honeycombs, what chance do any of us have for adventure? In a world every inch of sea, sky and land is mapped by satellite technology, what possibility does mystery and imagination have to exist? So I long to go off on my own adventure in a world with heroes who stood up in the face of adversity, and tell my own story of love against impossible odds. Not live in a world where I seem to be lost in a sea of faces, grey and apathetic, as they all listlessly drift towards false promises of a better future, not a world where every aspect of individuality and originality has disappeared.
Sometimes I feel like a ghost, ironically isolated and alone even in a crowd, hovering at the periphery in darkness, disconnected and detached watching as faces float by and distorted conversations echo and resound in the blackness. I want to reach out, I know that out there that are so many wonderful people, wondeful personalities and all the idiosyncratic details about everyone and I want to become a part of it, but I feel so out of sync with everything; like the city or the people have their own song and I can’t sing along: every time I do it comes out wrong, I play the wrong notes and it all clashes and collapses and feedbacks. And so my window into the outside world shatters and I’m left alone in the darkness again, where my doubts, my insecurities, my nightmares, can creep on me and threaten to drag me down further away from everyone else. But I fight it. It's a hard fight.