International Women’s Day Celebrations: Sauti za Mabinti, Mar. 8 2014 @ Alliance Française Auditorium
30,000-year-old virus comes to life http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-26387276
Sometimes I wonder how it is possible to be such a contradiction of a human being. To feel so much inside yet on the surface appear ambivalent, expressionless even. The person you spend the most time with is yourself, therefore it would be logical to develop a healthy relationship with oneself. But like most of my relationships, mine with myself is a murky complications of what ifs. Perhaps the most detrimental factor is that trusting myself is often not an option. I mean, yeah it’s one thing not to trust another person, they are a stranger to what’s within and will never quite grasp who you essentially are but lack of trust with yourself is vexing because it means you are at war with yourself.
Demands, demands. Most of the time I just want my own company to listen to my intangible thoughts and do things that soothe my soul. Like read a tragic novel or play video games. Or write about the girl that consumes my thoughts but cannot quite tell her because my emotions are comprised of unerring vicissitudes that often clash for dominance and use my heart as a battle ground and the words don’t come close to conveying my meaning. I do not know how to say sorry because it is a woefully inadequate word that does not even come close to assuaging the upset that precipitated the apology. I do however know how to sit quietly beside you, offer my support and an unassuming ear and shoulder to cry on. I will hug you because sometimes there are some things words miss, undeﬁnable gaps that remain hollow when paltry words are used to try to ﬁll them.
Maybe one day I will be able to express what I feel without feeling like my soul is being ripped out. Maybe I’ll learn to be more open, less guarded, less cautious. But wounds of the heart are permanently septic, all it takes is a breeze of ill wind blowing on them and they are re-infected; begin festering, rotting into bitterness and cynicism. Oozing despair and distrust with feculent apathy. But maybe just maybe, it may not always be the case.
Maybe I’ll take this chance. And maybe you’ll understand what I’m saying when I quote Floetry lyrics or send Pablo Neruda stanzas to you. I like being alone but that doesn’t mean I don’t like being with you. I like that quiet space that separates our thoughts and gives birth to possibilities. I like making space in my head so that I can consume your entirety when I’m in your presence. Then when your bubble and my bubble mix it forms a nice cocoon of just being, just two human beings using silence as a language and me randomly licking your cheek or biting your nose. No words needed just each other’s presence that make one feel like they’re in a Lana Del Rey song on loop. Just existing. Breathing. Being. Maybe I’ll take a chance.
The fact I’m thinking about you above all these thoughts means I already am.