I can be serious, really serious, so serious that people around me can take me as an insane person with a feverish passion for everything dark and sombre. So I try to cool my fever and check on my sensitivity every now and then.
I keep them under check by writing, writing anything that troubles me and my mind, anything that makes my day lovely, anything that make me calmer than before. Alternatively, I find my own peaceful and silent zone where I can reflect and remain temporarily disconnected from people and nerve-wrecking media.
Maybe I am running away from my past, maybe I am an escapist (as mostly accused), maybe I need time to heal, maybe I just want to forget my social and economic connections and just sleep away blissfully in the lap of nature, or whatever. The days when I spent hours without randomly checking on my thoughts in front of the sea were the most memorable days of my life. Away from the worries of earning my daily bread and butter, away from the dark emotions and energies, away from the constant game of intimidation and control, among others, those days instilled pure joy and happiness. I would just feel the air in my face and feel the cold water healing my exhausted feet, and collect shells of all shapes strewn like coins on the smooth surface of the sea sand.
But, on a second thought, it seems to me that even darker days have been an integral part of my memorable days. I love nights, for the silence, and a soothing play of light and music. I love the way moon looks at the earth, isn’t is lovely? This is also the time when I look forward to reflecting on my nightmares and dreams, whether it’s related to fear or profound intimacy. I remember them next day as vividly as any real situation in daily life. I can never forget one of the nightmares that disturbed my inner consciousness so immensely that I kept brooding over every scene for God knows how many days. Frankly, I have lost the count of days. In fact, I still think about them. In this particular dream I found myself stranded on the footsteps leading to a well. I find myself struggling really hard over the only footstep that eventually remains and other structures leading to exit are demolished like a pack fo cards. I saw myself in such a precarious situation that nothing except drowning seemed like a solution. It reminded of the character Ophelia, painted and written by innumerable artists and writers.
It’s then I knew I fear, fear something, in fact many things. Maybe I fear of being chased and punished in the name of culture and religion. So deep is this fear that every dream has entrance but no exit. I take my dreams and nightmares seriously as they make me comprehend my inner self and yearnings, especially for freedom and invisibility.
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