Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about loneliness. It seems like the most romantic thing to be when I read Murakami novels…girl eating dinner by herself in a cafe, reading book by herself in her room, taking long walks by herself across the city. Being with nothing and no one has never seemed so appealing. But in reality, loneliness is like stale cheese. It tends to overpower your senses gradually and slowly till you reach a point when you can’t bear it anymore. Fuck the stupid cheese, you say, and throw it out of the window in one swift move.
Which drives me to another more relevant point, when does one get used to being alone? Is it an acquired taste or is it something meant for higher beings. There are innumerable accounts of people just wandering into forests and spending hours without any friends or family, with only trees and birds for company. Is that really doable? Thoreau emphasized on how all of us have to go and live in a jungle all alone at some point in our lives without fail. I wonder if being alone for a long period of time forces our brain to understand certain things about life, questions to which we all seek answers because of some immense sadness that has befallen us or some great luck that we can’t seem to get used to.
Honestly, I don’t mind being alone. By now I am a pro at guarding my emotions, carefully storing my feelings inside a well-protected glass case hidden deep within some high brick wall. It helps that everyone is too busy to even try and climb the stupid wall. Mostly they choose to meander around it carefully, take a stroll by the glass case and just leave it at that. Suits me perfectly.
On a different note, sometimes I feel like I’m floating, being tugged from one corner to another with a rope, like Sandra Bullock in Gravity. Only I’m not her, life isn’t space and there is no Clooney. Although there was a Clooney at one point of time. There were others too, mostly characters from books – a Holden, a Toru, a Winston. In fact there is one now as well, a very difficult one because I’m just not being able to find an apt character to retro fit this new one into. I think that is my tragic flaw – I am trying to live my life like some story book a crazy ass author wrote and probably didn’t care much for later.
I blame it on the old fart Salinger…it all started with my obsession of catching and being caught. And boy did I find catchers. Anyway now I realize at 25, that playing catch catch tends to be tiring specially if you are the one being caught. It’s a very teenage thing to do and one needs to graduate from all this catching business into something more solid and socially acceptable, something like sitting. Sitting down is safer than playing catch (better in my opinion) because when you sit down you don’t have to bother about a thing. Sit down with lemonade, some sun tan lotion, a nice old book, your dog near your feet and that’s that. No more running around, worrying, pretending to catch or get caught or any of that idiotic shit.