Thursday, April 24, 2014

Odd and Obscure

This is something I wrote on the seventh of April, but decided against publishing it because I figured I shall be the bright bohemian baby who is just always present and cheerful, but right now, I am just Exhausted. I would have done Whatever it takes but that is kind of hard when your existence is only like, about 25% of the whole you or even less.


It is hard never being able to speak of it, like some cursed ring. It is like a secret planet weighing down on my shoulders. A beautiful secret planet, but weighing down on my shoulders nevertheless. And somehow I have to carry it on my own. I get cheered on and supported for carrying it but I still need to carry it in silence, on my own, and I must try to look happy and as though there is no weight on my shoulders. I cannot even speak of its beauty because it is an effing secret planet. 

What about what I truly deserve - someday I may wake up, about 300 years old, alone and perhaps living inside that beautiful planet, but I may never know when company is arriving again. If at all. 

I readily accept the oddness of all this now, living inside a secret closet, oddness and all. I may be special, but I am in a secret closet. A special odd creature, but a secret nevertheless. 

I do not like the crowds and I do not like the noise and I like the quiet of all this, which is why I can manage a secret planet and being a secret creature. But what about the long stretches of silence when I instead prefer words and laughter and company? What about those silences? What about the absences? A desire to be not-absent is far different from being actually absent, such as when I need directions to a place and I can only ask the air. I can only rely on whatever fragment is left for me. I get big chunks of these things, and most of the time they let me get through those long periods of absences, but those absences, oh how real they are. The silences. The absences. And always I have to wait. Is this something I deserve just because I am only welcome up to the anteroom of a certain world, and even then I must not present myself as who I really am? 

Outside this anteroom, is a much bigger world where the cold will hit me hard, but at least I will not be made to carry this huge secret planet all by myself. And I would not need to go and keep waiting in the anteroom, trying to be much, much more obscure than I already am, only to be sneaked in when everyone has left and I can run across the dark halls and laugh, albeit softly and with care, you know, Just In Case. And then when the reality of the daylight comes in, I get sent back to the anteroom, obscure and waiting. 

I never know what is really there. I do not even want to be included, because I like my distance and my silence. I do not even want to be in the main room to be introduced to everyone. But I am definitely worth more than just being in the anteroom.  

I cannot tell exactly which direction I want to take, because I have not the tiniest clue of where exactly I am. I am not even supposed to act in certain ways. This is not a pleasant way of being confined. 

Will I just be always waiting, waiting for I do not even know what, while putting on this brave smile and pretending as though there is no planet on my shoulders? I am filling in the gaps of a world I am not part of and should not be part of, but the gaps in mine are dreadfully wide and silent and empty. 

I can always just walk away. I deserve so much more than this. Suddenly, the difference between How-readily-present-I-can-be and How-much-I-have-to-wait-for-the-absences-to-end is so stark that it hurts my eyes, and I never know if there will always be a hankie to cover them just when I need it. See, it is those things. The reality is, I am blindly making my way through this, switching from this world to another, and I never know when I would reach out and feel a hand guide me, and even then no one should know about the effing hand. 

I AM already obscure as it is. It does not matter if I was gazed upon for over a year, because even that was a secret gaze. I do not need announcements, but I also do not need to be made much more obscure than I already am. 

The last time I checked, wanting to be with me and being present in my life meant being such. I have been prepared in having to wait for the few moments this could be resembled, and I kept my faith. But right now, I am not even sure what I am waiting for. Or what I am. 

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