A Study in Solitude

Salutations, from inside my head.

From morning til night, for the last two days I have spent 90% of my time breathing the occasionally air-conditioned air of a single room. I watched the overcast sky turn from a bright, chalky white to a heavier ash grey that deepened into a shade that lies somewhere between violet and indigo on the rainbow - all through the scribble-ridden window. My subconscious noted that I was beginning to dislike the never-changing building front that my window looks out on and stopped registering it.

The last time I spent this much time in a room alone, I ended up a sniveling, shaking mess in the middle of the floor. I desperately fought for breath and frantically searched through my contacts list for someone, anyone I could call.

Not in the area
Not in the area
Busy
An acquaintance
Another acquaintance
Pre-occupied with boyfriend
Too far away
Pre-occupied with girlfriend
Bogged down by too many troubles
Away
Never answers
Busy

All the way through the list.

Again.

And again.

My eyes swam, stopped on one name that might, possibly, have the patience for me and might, just might (1 in a 1,000,000,000th of a chance) come. I called him and couldn't say a word. I simply let my quiet hiccups speak for me. "Are you...crying?" His incredulous voice asks, heavy with concern. If I asked you to ask nothing, just hold me as I cry...would you let me? My voice is barely a whisper, the rasp of Velcro across wool. "Of course." His earnest reply was all I needed. Salty streams became rivers down my face, became warm honey that filled the aching cavern that had dug itself into my heart. Thank you.

I spent much of my early youth being unbelievably dependent on those I cared about and those who I trusted cared for me. While all these people did care for me deeply, I was like a parasite, needy for emotional attention as badly as a spoiled dog for treats. I was a roller coaster of extremes to boot.

I'm infinitely glad that, in the four years since, I have found, two days in, I am still standing (or sitting, rather) and unscathed - for the most part, anyway. I can't deny that there is an echo of that lonely void lingering from the call of my extroverted, social nature. I have learned at least a little from the time I've spent on my own, with no phone or internet connection, scrubbing surface after surface, dish after dish, pot after pan, about the serene, slightly melancholic satisfaction of alone time. Like the finest green tea, it isn't complete without that slightly bitter edge. An acquired, complex taste, you learn to appreciate that tinge and learn to hold it on your tongue. However, this is about as far as my appreciation for the more complicated adult emotions reaches.

The more I learn about the intricacies of the adult psyche, the more I fear becoming a part of it. Why do we have to make our relations and our lives so unnecessarily more complicated than they already are? I'm beginning to understand why people are, at first, surprised at my simplicity and my honest attempt to be genuine. As I grow older, the more people tell me to reign that impulse in. Watch what you say. Watch what you do. You're no longer a child. If being an adult means putting on a mask along with my clothes in the morning and changing that mask out for different-coloured ones and different-shaped ones to match the various occasions, then...I want no part of it.

That is what my heart screams even as I get dragged into that adult world we call society and the work place. The best I can do is try to be true to myself to the greatest extent that I can and not be penalized for it. The caution that barricades my words and actions feels like a pen, a cage, but for now at least I can breathe. Maybe, I'll learn to work my way around this barrier and manage both worlds somehow. Until then, like my citizenship, like my age, like my life purpose, I am held in a strange limbo.

After the better part of two days with minimal human contact, my throat will be sore tomorrow after work because my voice will be alarmed at the overuse after such a long stretch of silence. Nonetheless, my heart will be lighter for having interacted with the students that, as jaded and as apathetic as they are at such a young age, still cling to a certain beautiful simplicity purely by the virtue of the fact that they are children.

Less is most definitely more,
And infinitely complex is the beauty of simplicity.


Always,
Seoul Searching