Letters To a Stranger

letters to a stranger

Yesterday felt like the first day that I was completely free for myself, without any obligations towards anything at all. I woke up really early and wasn’t comfortable in my room one bit, it felt like there has been a hurricane in here. Finally, with college out of my head I suddenly remembered how much I wanted to do this summer but instead I’ll be spending it here in my room. Most of these plans were in the very limits of my room anyway, but I miss the air. So I started cleaning it all up and went through the terrible mess at my desk, sketches, papers and so many books. I started to throw away all the things I won’t be needing that has been stuck in my desk for the past two years. I found so many things that I didn’t know how to feel about. Why is it so hard to throw away pieces of paper anyway? There are so much memories there, right between the lines. Every moment spent was right before my eyes and it made me feel nostalgic for the world and my friends. i made myself a nice breakfast because well I haven’t had a proper meal in days, which was nice. Spent some time sketching and reading and I fell asleep for god knows how long.

Do you know this feeling when you know you don’t belong to anything but you’re only trying to keep yourself busy. This has been my life ever since I got into college. I forgot what emotions are and mostly I ceased to exist, just killing time. I didn’t mind for it took my mind away from things I didn’t want to be looking at. I felt like I wanted to get out of my skin and try a different one. I failed miserably. The manifestation of Sylvia Plath’s line “why can’t I try on different lives, like dresses, to see which fits best and is more becoming?” i do feel the same way you feel. i feel like I want to get out of my skin. There is so much in this reality I would want to alternate, not because it’s necessarily ugly but because I don’t feel it. there is no taste in waking up, in talking, in moving forward through this life. Like there is almost no meaning to it and you have to bear it anyway. Why are we here if at least we’re not going to feel anything. I feel so deprived of life and emotions I’d be lying to you if said I even feel pain anymore. Do you know these dreams where you keep anticipating and you know that something beautiful is about to happen, you’re dreaming that something beautiful is about to happen and you keep waiting and every second something happens that delays it and the very moment it starts to happen, you wake up. Do you know these dreams? By now I’m pretty confident that this is the main concept of my life. A cancerous idea that has been taking over my head for years. It seems by now that the main purpose of whatever that I’m belonging to will only be acquainted to my death. My dreamers wake. I have tried to grasp any hints of emotions that lie within anything that I have been dedicated to but there never was. I could have fallen in love. I could have been the happiest girl on earth, yet I only keep running. I get traumatized by the idea that I’m not dead yet so how is this thing true. How am I true? I get so scared that I still won’t be able to feel anything.

I stand with you on the matter that you don’t need to go out to the world to find something to write about. I do believe the only thing you will need is knowledge through books. You go outside and the world only intoxicate you. Starting from the lies and the constant pretending that you feel lighter than you actually do. Of constantly contributing in conversations about things you have no interest in. to have your brain smudged by the footprints of other. This is the easiest way to lose whatever you are. The crowd is always wrong that’s one thing I’ve learned. As much as I would hate to admit but I enjoy things more when I’m on my own, or with less people. There is a constant idea that whatever you’re experiencing with someone is repainted by their point of view that actually affects how much you’re reacting to this thing and instead of enjoying something it gets bitter. When you’re exposing yourself to the world you’re constantly lying that’s another thing I learned. There is no comfort in being yourself with someone and there is no comfort in lying. It’s suffocating sometimes and it’s only different with rare few.

When I used to write I believed that it made everything get worse too. Another reason of why I quit it. I’m growing to believe that our writings affect the way we see things afterwards, once the words are out everything carries their essence. Like when I wrote to you about the peaceful parts of my childhood, I found myself remembering more of the good things, feeling peaceful, feeling exactly the same way I wrote about. When I used to write about what was suffocating me I only felt trapped even more, like words are quicksand and you chose exactly what you want to see yourself drown into and in what way. Have you ever thought about that?

I used to see so much ugliness too. Poetry sure helped but not as much as nature. Four years ago I was struck by the realization that I never really took a moment to look at the sky. “without nature, people like us would die from absence.” I started to look closely at the beautiful things around. The trees if there was any, birds even the air. Sunlight blew my head and it felt like I was a baby experience what this world is made from for the very first time. I often find myself longing for sand and deserts. The ultimate joy of jumping into the sea with a hundred colorful fish around me and not feeling scared. This is why I loved the eyes of the skin because it addresses a thought, which is whatever we’re building in this world is depriving us from nature, making a man swallowed by the feeling of loneliness and alienations. And here is this very country there is only ugliness, even what they claim to be beautiful is ugly and deprived of humanity and nature. This place feels like a curse in every possible way, yet you can still find something beautiful to look at. For the past couple years I stopped living in fantasies, determined that through whatever I do I can still create someplace bearable on the physical and spiritual level. To create something beautiful out of myself instead of judging the ugliness of the world. I’m still helplessly trying to.

Trust me when I say that learning everything through academia is bitter and meaningless. If you are passionate towards anything this passion can be ruined by your first week. It’s living hell, you’re only going through something just because you need the degree but you’re not learning anything. mostly it’s all self-learning too which I something I don’t really mind. Can’t trust them enough anyway. I would love to venture with you through it all. I’ve never shared any conversations about any of these interests with anyone too because there wouldn’t be any echoes. Not that my friends don’t listen when I talk about something I love, but it just doesn’t feel right when the conversation is one sided, so you have no idea how excited I am right now. I feel so compelled to finish whatever books I have started so we could discuss them and maybe suggest you some. I have heard of Charles Baudelaire but I haven’t really read anything for him yet. I have been reading the poems of Vladimir Mayakovsky, which is a second hand book that I’ve got at the beginning of the last semester but had no time to read any of it. I adore second hand books. I keep going through them hoping that someone left a message or any hint of a note but sadly I never do. I have this book which I got when I decided I wanted to get into philosophy called what plato said and at the end of it there was this envelope and my heart sank at the sight of it but sadly again it was empty. I haven’t read the book though.

There is this poem is Vladimir book: “bleached with curiosity, rays on end, the stars’ eyes start from their orbits. Torturous, the second lagged in procrastination. Towards the beginning of the bloody game, tense as copulation, breathless and moveless time became. Then crash, the second is in smithereens, arena in smoking chaos dashed; not a thing in the skies to be seen. The seconds quickened and quickened. Roared. Blew up. Died.”

Can’t wait to hear from you.