I couldn't sleep last night. Someone could have cut the atmosphere in the house with a knife... I was lying in bed, staring mostly at the white ceiling, thinking how alone we always all are, no matter how many people happen to surround us. I thought that it was quite true: we are always alone in our own head, and nothing can change that. It then becomes a question of how much we like to live with our own selves, and sadly I don't think a lot of people like their selves at all. In fact, I suspect that many cannot even bear the thought of spending time alone with their self... so they grow afraid of being left alone, because being alone means having no choice but to face your own mind, your own self.

So they seek to be in the company of others constantly, just so they can ignore their own selves. They hang onto the company of others and busy themselves with as many things as they can so the void within can be at least numbed, or forgotten... even though it is still there.

It's all an illusion of course, for no matter how many surround us, we are all ultimately alone, and the only way to actually start appreciating the company of others is by starting to appreciate our own. This illusion so many people strive to bury themselves in (that of ignoring their own selves and never be alone for too long) reminds me of one I used to have when I was younger and still frightened to spend the night alone in an empty house. To give myself the illusion of a human presence, I would leave the TV or the radio on, so voices would fill the room, and suddenly I was no longer so afraid of whatever monster or ghost that might be about to get me ( I have way too much imagination, and sometimes it works against me).

Last night I realised that I had no one I could turn to just to rest my head on their shoulder when I needed it the most. I patted myself on the shoulder, yes I did, and you know what? My own self cheered me up. Yes I am alone, yes I have no one to turn to... but I have myself, and in that sense I can never be lonely.

But... We are social animals, after all. Some things in life are needed just to keep in balance as far as life is concerned. I sighed to myself and finally drifted to sleep.

I woke up before dawn, amazingly enough, and just enjoyed watching the sky slowly light up from its shroud of dull darkness. As I walked into the kitchen, I met my uncle there. He looked terrible. My mother had tried pleading with him one last time the night before, but he was adamant that he wanted to leave, and then he insulted her, and then she told him to get lost. He began to give me his own version of what the whole argument was about, and since I barely understand his language, all I could do was nod and smile. Previously, I had been made to listen to my mother's version, and now I guess I had to listen to his.

I smiled and nodded for a good 20 minutes as he went on and on, but I did understand the times when he was actually insulting my mother as he explained his story to me. Still, I listened and nodded. Then he gazed at me and said something like: "But you sweetheart, you are great. I love you." And that's when he hugged me.

Yeah... And that made me wondered how different his view of me would have been if I had known how to speak his language. Surely there would have been no way for me to avoid being dragged into their arguments.

And then I was reminded of that stranger paradox again. Aren't we more likely to always hurt the ones we know, perhaps even the ones we like, more than a mere stranger in the street? I was always fascinated to watch people arguing in public places, and while they give one another the darkest of looks if not worse, they never forget to politely - and often with the sweetest of smiles - open the shop door for you, the stranger.

Here, I play of course the role of the 'stranger' to an extent. I stand aside, neutral, and in the end in the best position of the story.

One thing my uncle added once his rant was over was to tell me something about how I had eyes inside me. I had no idea what he was on about so I asked him what he meant maybe three times, and that's when he pointed at his eyes, and then at his chest: 'you have eyes in there, too.'

I wished I could have told him that he had them too, he just needed to find the strength to seek them, and then keep them wide open.