I am sitting outside, on the stone stairs behind the art gallery, there are green all around, there are green lights streaming through the small gaps in-between and you feel so alive, there is a closeness of the voice ringing in my ears and a bird comes up close to stare and wait for something to come out of my hands and I just smile. It flies away.
The last time I saw this space, I was already dying to sit there against the stone wall, and write. Writing is a lonely task and the environment you’re placed determines the outcome of such text. The weather, the rhythm, wind, slight change in the atmosphere can change the very rhythm and tension of ones writing. I am now, experiencing pure happiness through this writing, the footsteps and voices echoing from the university students walking down from above, the cool wind, and it’s so close to autumn, but not quite yet, the cicadas are ringing too, the light and the leaves are still summer.
I am recalling the weather this summer, it was so cold until the beginning of January and it was warm for about 2-3 weeks, and now we are on the verge of summer and autumn. The morning is cold as winter and the wind blowing in the midday is much more slight, lighter sound, like the remnants of summer.
There are different emotions running through me as I listen to the surroundings. There are many different things running through my mind. I don’t know whether I can keep up with this at all. I was looking outside the window on the morning bus, and I wanted to cry because of what? I don’t know, and I can’t explain why the colours of such hearts keeps hitting me over and over again, there is no need for such drama in the heart because it’s always too hard and difficult for me to even live at all.
Listen. To the footsteps, the wind, words and language flying over one another, and you fall into this trance, like the world has stopped just for you, and you feel like crying because you cannot live with another being at all.
We are all constructing ourselves through another being, and to dissolve into solitude is not to have any other identity and mind in yourself besides you which is a grave danger to live with. There is no other way to get out when you are stuck, if there are only single mind existing, no space to move around, and nowhere to even run to. That’s how we have struggled, that’s how I’ve struggled, not to have enough space to live within myself, because the relationship with the outside worlds is often cut short in my life. It is hard to maintain the connection with another, because there are far too many stays stripped away, and I need to somehow try and keep it intact, I am always the one who has to be working over on how to keep it all.