i'm supposed to be reading. i'm supposed to be sleeping. i'm supposed to be resting. but at the moment i want to relish in the few uninterrupted moments i have for myself. M. keeps telling me, actually chastising me, about how i dont take enough time to rest-- to take a breather. sometimes i forget that in the multitude of thing that need my attention my body too warrants care from me.
it's cold outside. the winds are howling and i feel the leaves crash against one another. the turbulence is, oddly, comforting. i've gotten used to being alone lately. to being comfortable with only myself. and the tress rustling remind me of this solidarity. to be immersed with people, all the time, is what i have always been. gregarious most of the day, to be in front of an audience is a heady drug i've been addicted to. so much so i cant do without company. but detaching myself from this, is a learning process. to spend time to my writing, my thoughts, my work-- individualistic as it is-- is a very realization filled time.
i don't know how it is but i notice touch more. the way a hand holds mine, or the way someone's shoulder accidentally grazes me. perhaps i'm so hungry for a physical connection that anything would do. whenever i see my close friends there is a sudden desire to just be held. the comfort of touch is a steady need. despite what i said earlier, about being comfortably alone, i just realized a while ago while manning the booth of how deprived i am of touch. my parents aren't really affectionate people. so i grew up not being immensely able to display naturally my affections. but in the course of age i needed an outlet for my desire to feel. i guess it was a blessing to be sent to an all girl's school and to be among people who were similar to me, hugs and besos were a common occurrence. but to be transported in a college, a co educational one at that, is a culture shock. i could say that there are only a few people in my life i am truly an open book despite being very transparent by nature. but these numbers are dwindling..because of circumstance.
my thoughts are rambling. as they have the entire day.
i am at the moment preparing something. this giving yourself is a risk. i'm browsing through the things that are descriptions of myself and i find it hard to pick just a select few to part with. as i look at the remnants of memories and the emotions they evoke i am reminded of how simple i am. sometimes self-doubt creeps in and i wonder once more if it is enough. someone close to me doesnt understand the importance i place in reflection. he thinks of it as a nuisance, something that is overly exaggerated and lacking proper action. writing has always been a means of escape. it is unadulterated. unfiltered. i don't rehearse inside me what i must say, but instead say what just is. my thoughts are what is written and ultimately read. and what is read doesn't necessarily need a conclusion. i am quite content to leave them hanging in the air as they are. to be shoved out of the recesses of my brain. they all aren't for further synthesis. just thoughts, jumbled and raw.
i find it hard to talk to you sometimes. this breech that seems conquerable most of the time elongates to the impassable. there are occasions when we are unyielding, unbending, and it makes me wonder how far can we be formidable before we break. step by step. i dont know if you've noticed but i am a proud person. i dont normally like being told what to do. i dont like being pushed into a predestined plan. i dont like being chastised. but i recognize this fault that is why i allow you to do these things no one would get away with. be careful though. pushing too much is a concern.
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