This post was meant to be written last night and posted immediately. Alas, I fell asleep right on my keyboard and had to be dragged back to my bed in the middle of the night after typing “ mbhg“. I was convinced that wouldn’t make a great post…
Last night as I walked home after a lovely evening, I felt alone. Although I was downtown and I wasn’t the only one stalking through the streets at night, I felt strangely alone. I was convinced I was feeling strange because I was tired. I had had a really long day of fun, but at the end of it, as I took the Skytrain home, I felt quiet.
There is a difference between silence and solitude. I don’t mind silence. I play my music loud and party hard, but when I’m home and when it’s raining, I don’t mind spending a good day in silence with a book and a cup of tea. Silence. Contemplation. I can hear it in my head, filling the space. The empty corners where I don’t want to go and the messy corners where thoughts have jammed themselves wherever they can like a stacked bookshelf. I don’t mind it. It’s almost refreshing. Like meditation. As natural as breathing.
But solitude. The dictionary definition of which is “the state or situation of being alone”. Why is it that we fill our lives, with people, activities, events, parties, but we are so afraid of filling it with ourselves? Are we that scary? Am I just too scared to look at myself? If I were to stare in a mirror like Keira Knightley in Pride and Prejudice, what would look back at me? A monster? An angel? Why must it be those extremes? Why can’t it just be me looking back at myself?
As these thoughts poured through my head, I wondered if there were other people battling themselves. Battling their solitude. I was also playing and replaying the song ‘Both of Us’ by B.o.B and Taylor Swift in my head. And I was singing it for me. Nobody else.
I figured there will come a time when I will be able to just BE with myself. Just like the silence I now appreciate, I will be able to appreciate solitude. And in the best of times, I will look back at this moment in the Skytrain and thank myself for acknowledging my fear of solitude.
Someday I will be strong enough to lift not one, but both of us. Me and myself.