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.
2020