I was sitting on the middle sofa in the living room, looking at every person in front of me while they held a casual conversation in the midst of the regular fried chicken dinner. On the surface I looked calm. On the surface I looked like I had nothing on my mind. Every once in a while I could find myself joining in the conversation. I knew exactly what the discourse was about, how the topic moved from one subject to another. I responded to every one of them, sometimes just slightly, sometimes a little more elaborate. But just like retractable claws, my attention to the discourse came and went, quite abruptly. Because only on the surface I looked calm. Only on the surface I looked carefree. But underneath I was shaken. Underneath, I was terrified. For it to be exposed, all it needed was a little scratch on the surface.
To be completely honest, I don't know whether it is fortunate, or unfortunate, that that surface has never encountered a single scratch before. Sometimes I feel safe. The fact that I am not figured out makes me feel safe. Like the way I felt last summer, while on the road with my mother and aunt, going across the east-west highway. The view took me away. Everything from the mountains to the roads far ahead were dressed in a somber hue. Every single thing was its own entity, but there were no clear outlines separating them from one another. The trees and the sky above them blended together perfectly. Everything was, all in all, one. I felt safe driving in the middle of it all. I felt like I was, too, one with them. Like if I wanted to tell them anything, I could.
I wanted to keep feeling safe, but once I reached the city, every thing was back to being their own individual. We were no longer "one". I felt like I was being thrown out. I felt rejected, dejected, disheartened. Eventually I too became my own individual. I could not relate to anything around me. I felt terrified to let myself out in the open. I felt cautious.
But the truth is, I want to be figured out. We all do. How, when, who, why, where, I'll leave it all to Eventually. Because eventually, all of our surfaces will crack open and fall apart. And I have come to realize that there is absolutely nothing wrong with it.
"I will tell you my stories on a breezy dayso they can float away with the windBut let me first craft the words and waysso they won't brush against your skin"
