Sup3rnality

Tonight is one of those sleepless nights when you just feel like doing something constructive and yet there is nothing to do to fill up the time. So here I am instead, a pagan to the computer and the solace it offers in its anonymity; the knowledge that no-one knows who you are, and words remain as just words. Nothing more, nothing less. There is no person to judge, no specimen to be inspected under a microscope. There are no expressions to read.

I used to be a slave to the pages of my journal. My faithful journal all bound in a yellowish-gold wrapping paper that serves as a vessel for my written thoughts, opinions, musings and such. And how time has changed, from the musty paper of my journal, I’ve moved on to this screen that displays the inner me, where my soul is splayed out by the constant tapping of my fingers on the keyboard, producing words to match the thoughts in my head.

Things around me have been changing fast. It’s amazing how fast things can evolve in the time span of less than a year. In within these few months, I‘ve turned from a contented schoolgirl to an angst-y college girl. In a few months I’ve left the monotony of routine for an unpredictable life. I’ve left my home for a living space which is supposed to pass off as a home and yet feels so hollow, soulless, empty… And I am no longer the person people used to know.

People ask me whether I am still me. Yes, I still am. My name is still the same. I look the same. And yet my essence is like a reflection in a puddle of water. It’s the reflection of the same thing, the same being and yet, inconsistent. The reflection muddled up by the constant sloshing of the water. Sometimes it’s clear. Sometimes nothing more but a jumble of colours. I am that reflection in that puddle. Ever-changing. My soul flits from emotion to emotion. You may not see it in my face, because it will never show. But you can see it in my eyes; the windows of everyone’s soul. I think my eyes have become older than they should be. Worn out by the troubles I see in my mind’s eye. But then again, who exactly have ever seen into my eyes? I look away after a moment too long of eye contact. That is a weakness of mine. There lies all my sensitivity. There is where my soul resides. And there is so much to hide.

Of course I am still me. What am I if I am not the girl you made your friend, your confidante, your advocate? Who would I be if I do not answer to the name I was given? Maybe somewhere deep in me I am broken, but at least the body that encases my soul still is in one piece. If at all, I may have been wizened by experiences, aged by sadness, or perhaps jaded by hardships. But that does not make me a stranger. Nor does it make me an intruder in the new life you have forged. I AM still me. Am I not entitled to change as you have?

Do not be afraid. This vessel still very much bears the person you have all come to know. It still bears all the secrets, all the information you have filled me with in all those years of me living. The only difference is that my soul pretty much hovers in the space between reality and fantasy. Finding comfort nor able to run away from neither.

So here I shall end my soul baring, the bleeding of my heart. What you make of it is your choice alone. I am here but to deliver, just for the brief comfort. I have no right over your judgment. But I am a person. One who feels. So think what you want, but these feelings are mine, and mine alone; ergo whatever you think of me is your opinion, good or bad. But you will never begin to fathom the enigma of my life.

-LinZy-