Sitting in a trendoid bar this evening with my South African friend drinking beer that reminds me all too much of home really only intensified the thought process that has been a non-stop ocurrance since I arrived in this country just over a month ago.
We spoke for what seemed like hours, even days. That's all we do when were together, I feel as though I have no one to talk that intensely in my house, and that its a refreshing change when I see them. To be comfortable enough to be myself, to freak out over my pillow, to rub our bellies and to say silly things and have profound thoughts, (that aren't all that profound) and not be scared of judgement when we voice them. I feel as though I'm sinking backwards into a dark abyss of loosing myself. I hate having to conform to this society were creating within our community where being different is a bad thing. Where being oneself is frowned upon.
I was sitting on the couch the other day, feeling more at home then I have in a very long time. I was just talking to the room, they, all more tired than I was, (me - being used to living in a haze of semi-exhaustion) and therefore all quieter than usual. A perfect opportunity for random voices. Entertainment. Something so often only brought about by music more often than not by the same people and by specific people at that. I'm not musical so I cannot relate. I like voices, I like people. I like to just talk and say things. They all looked at me with quizzical expressions on their faces, confusion in their tired eyes as to what was going on. Someone asked where what I was saying was from, as though in complete disbelief as to the fact that someone, normally so quiet, could fathom or think of something mildly different than "Yes, okay, good". It was then that I realised I was sinking away. Floating further and further away from the person that had taken me so long to find within myself and bring out to the world. It was then that I realised just how much I missed being at home, not for the tea, not for the food, not for the people, but for the place where I felt as though I could be the person that I was. Freely.
The talking intensified, along with the thinking that never quite seems to stop. I sometimes have to consciously think of a dark area, normally a large black square, whilst trying to fall asleep to make it go away. My brain never really shuts down. I'm fidgety, a constant motion, a constant need to itch, to twitch to get carried away with mundane things. I have to move. I have to be busy. Back in the smoke-y bar, over analysing life, love, the universe and other round things I came to a few conclusions about Love. Something that has always bothered and confused me about this whole "love" dilemma is why we feel the need to define it, analyse it and constantly seek it. That's all terribly hipocritacal, because that's exactly what I do. I seem to fall in love with people all to quickly. All to easily. More often than not for the wrong reasons. I wear my heart on my sleeve and its gotten me into more than one sticky situation. I don't believe it exists but I still use it, over use it even. The excuse of "love".
We as humans tend to throw around these words until they have virtually no meaning at all. Say a world enough times and it doesn't sound like its even real.
Bowl. Bowl. Bowl. Bowl Bowl. Bowl. Bowl. Bowl. Bowl Bowl. Bowl. Bowl. Bowl. Bowl Bowl. Bowl. Bowl. Bowl. Bowl Bowl. Bowl. Bowl. Bowl. Bowl Bowl. Bowl. Bowl. Bowl. Bowl Bowl. Bowl. Bowl. Bowl. Bowl Bowl. Bowl. Bowl. Bowl. Bowl Bowl. Bowl. Bowl. Bowl. Bowl Bowl. Bowl. Bowl. Bowl. Bowl Bowl. Bowl. Bowl. Bowl. Bowl Bowl.
We have to find that delicate balance within ourselves where we can distinguish between being in love with someone on a level of Romantic Interest and where we find people who just have this amazingly, conceptual idea of how we should be and how the world should be. We have to be able to notice when were attracted to people because of our inherent need to find people to procreate with or weather we just want to have the opportunity to soak up this amazing vibe from a persons soul. We have to decide when to be Ron and Hermione, or when we want to be Dementors. (But the good kind, where its not that we want to suck out peoples souls and devour them, but where we want to absorb their feelings and ideas about the world. Being able to tell weather I'm "in love" with someone or weather I just want to hangout will always be the biggest issue in my life.
Do I marry the cool old woman who has these cool ideas about women and the world and life, who lives in Mozambique and has dreadlocks, or do I find and attractive young man with a successful career and settle down to have a family? None of these situations seem appealing to me, but its what society expects of me. To make a decision about something so abstract in such a conventional way. Either of these options provide society with a chance to make judgements. What they think is right, never once taking into consideration my opinion in the matter, always assuming that I have made a decision that is set in stone. The main stigma behind divorce I think.
From late night existential crises, to overly exaggerated hand gestures and long complicated sentences without punctuation marks in smoke-y pubs and all the slam poetry its hard to keep track of ones thoughts. I have a journal. A quote book. 3 files for notes taken in class. A creativity book and this blog. Where do I begin and then where do I end it all off? What's even relevant any more? Who am I and what am I doing here? These are the real questions that I'm asking myself but when does it start sounding pretentious, or become irrelevant. There are so many more important things in the world; like people and politics. As much as it pains me to say it, I now live in a country where other people take preference over me. I live in a house where people are die-ing of the plague and I cannot help them. I feel as though I'm going stercrazy with the mess and the dust. I have no space for myself and the apartment is barely quiet. When it is, like now, its eeary so I have music. I'm scared to be alone, but crave it. Crave it like all the food I've been missing in my diet. Never before had I needed to eat Marmite and mow I find myself craving it at 3am on toast. What is going on with me? With my brain and my body?
When does it all stop being a ruse and turn into real life? Does real life become all just a ruse to keep the masses happy? How long will it last?
