Here I am again, being drawn in
solitude by the four corners of my room. I see the filthy floor and feel
disgusted by it but I’m too languid to make any move, much more to excrete
perspiration by cleaning the surface. It could be because of the frazzling
heat, or the fact that I’m all alone, that makes me cull the idea of any
movement.
Though some people rejoice in
isolation and trust that it is vital in one’s life, I feel the opposite. I fear
isolation. I dread being alone. I believe that people are meant to be with at
least one other person in order to truly live. Of course I believe that we
should also have an “alone time” every now and then. I save it for my “bathroom
moments” whereas I sit on my throne and analyze my life or whatever situation I
am in. That moment is already enough for me. I can already get in touch with
myself and sort out my own feelings and ideas in a number of minutes I spend on
that throne.
I’m not a hyper social butterfly
that flies from one group of friends to another. I can even leave unnoticed
inside a room full of people. I’m not remarkable. I do not initiate
conversations unless really bored, or needed. I don’t have the talent of being
able to talk and talk about anything and everything that exists or we imagine
exists. Most of the times, I depict myself boring to talk to for not being able
to relate to most of the topics. I don’t have a lot to say about certain
subjects and my mind flutters from one idea to another, which makes me hard to comprehend.
So sometimes I just choose to shut up instead of share something from my
scattered brain.
So, welcome to my life. The life
of a creature yearning to be surrounded by people, but doesn’t have the
characteristics to be such.
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