Today I sat outside a small cafe, wearing shades in the sun with a book in my hands. I ordered a black Americano and a croissant, and I imagined for a moment that I was in fact sitting in some cafe in the heart of Paris... The Latin Quarter to be precise, with its narrow, winding streets and cobbled alleys.
Then I went to have a look at the shops around. The street was bursting with people, of course, and that gave me an idea... I decided to experiment on something I never do, which is to look people in the eye. It may come as a surprise, but I have always avoided making eye-contact with people in general. Why? Because I never wanted to feel that split second connection that eyes invariably create.
There is so much communication going on in a mere glance... I feel it so strongly that I always avoid looking into people's eyes. In fact, the more likely I am to like a person, especially of the opposite sex, the more likely I am to look at everything except their eyes. I couldn't possibly hold their gaze because I would feel far too much and it would create a certain link that forces the invisible barriers down. How to explain this more concretely... Holding someone's gaze is already a deep wordless exchange, even though we may not always feel it. It gives off more than you could ever try to express in words or gesture, and in that sense it makes me very uncomfortable - because it makes me feel as though I would be giving off too much about me... and I don't like it because it makes me feel vulnerable. I am in fact always worried that the first contact - that of eyes meeting - could lead to a stronger bond.... So I avoid these like the plague.
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What the hell is wrong with wanting to love and be loved in return?
Living as I have with my mother, I never allowed myself to grow up or act as an adult per se. It was, to me, the most conveniant way to avoid having to face reality - because I hated everything about reality since I was a child.
As a child, I didn't understand why it was I hated it so much. All i knew is that I felt like a prisoner, and I longed to escape into a perfect world. A fantasy full of beauty and adventures.
As I grew older, I began to notice how so little around me made sense. I would write angry poems against my peers at school, poems about 'disgusting uniformity of brains', the contrast between the beauty of ideals, and how ugly it all looked in reality... I was only beginning to understand the source of my childhood 'malaise'... and I was locking away my pain and anger in words on paper, all the while growing more certain that I would rather die than become like everyone else - looking quite alive on the outside, but dead on the inside.
Life circumstances actually ensured that I would succeed in hiding from reality for as long as I pleased.
I mean, I only met idiots or people who would hurt me more often than not. Our life was so unstable that there can be no surprise that I grew so intolerant of nonsense and chaos -- Chaos and randomness is what DEFINED my life for a long time because of my mother's inability to be constant in her actions.
And in the end... That's exactly why I can spot nonsense and chaos so naturally, and why I run away from it.
Most people make no sense whatsoever. Sure, I'm always clumsy in reality, but at least I know why that is. People don't even question their own illogical ways, they just go with the flow.
I'm so tired of inconsistency. People are just so full of them. I want to be constant to the best of my abilities, even as I grow every day that I live.
I'm so tired of unecessary complexities. The world is full of them already.
I just want to be me, and I don't care to know that the whole of the universe rejects me for it.
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