Chasing The Light

 It had been so long since she'd seen light that when she came across it again, it was like she was discovering it for the very first time. Her small, restricted space was dark, almost pitch black. The introduction of a little lightbulb was fascinating. Even more so when it started to glow. She wanted so much to hold it and protect the warmth that emanated from the bulb, but it was more than warm to the touch.

 

Slow and careful, she inspected the light from each angle. her gaze locked on it she watched transfixed as it started to rise up and out of her space. She rose after it, finding that with help, she too could be lifted from the dark place she’d been trapped in. She stood, steady and cautious, like a bird testing it’s wings for flight. Then, she jumped back down and held the walls that had confined her, realising there was another escape between them. She tested the possibility, like an innocent preparing for a jailbreak and found that yes, she could leave that way too.

 

Slow and sure, she stepped out of the confines she’d thought herself trapped in. A little way out, she leapt for joy at the feeling of freedom and space. The light guided her all the while. She ran and reached for it again, managing to grasp the rope to which it was attached. Joyously, defiantly, she allowed the light to fly and dance around her.

 

She turned in dizzying circles at the return of the restrictive space she’d once been in. Where had the light disappeared to when she’d lost her hold? But this time, the space didn’t seem so scary or confining. Letting out a breath she allowed herself to revel in the space and her newfound knowledge that she was free to leave it whenever she wanted. This small space with her’s, in which to be and she could use it as a platform from which to not just fly, but soar.

 

She tilted her head back, basking in the feeling of wind rushing past her. Only then did the lightbulb, with its glowing light, appear once more. And only now when she finally able to take it in her hands. As she held it and felt its warmth radiating through her fingertips, she realised the light was within her. It shone to fuel her movements and guide her way forward. only then, comforted and safe in that knowledge, holding tight to the light bulb itself could she blow out the light it held.

All About ME

 He waved an unimpressed hand in the direction of his young assistant, her phone in hand as she tried to snap as many pictures as she could. “I get that sort of thing everywhere I go. All I really wanted was a little escape.” He sighed, exasperated. “How far must one go for a little bit of private peace and quiet!?”

 

The young blonde was doing an excellent job of pretending her boss was not getting to her, but little did he realise his comments were starting to crawl under her skin. Are you really looking for peace and quiet, or are you jealous the attention is not 100% on you for a second? She retorted silently to herself before refocusing her attention on the sight in front of her and her mission to capture it on film.

 

“It’s all about you, isn’t it?” she uttered under her breath. But she was close enough that her boss heard her.

“Why yes,” he said, matter of fact as he turned to glance at his assistant. Beside him, she was fighting not to turn red. Did I just say that out loud?

“Yes it is. I’m glad you can see that.” Her boss went on. “And you know, Melanie, that might be perfect for my next project.”

“Huh?”

“I can see it now!” He shot up to stand on his feet, throwing his arms out wide and sending the chair he’d been sitting in flying backwards in the process. He waved his arms around in the air as he said “’All About ME’”, as if envisioning it on a theatre’s signboard. “It’s perfect. All About ME. Martin East. Melanie, you’re a GENIUS!” His stunned assistant froze as he grabbed her by the shoulders. “I could kiss you.” He stopped suddenly, releasing her just as quickly. “But I won’t.”

 

Snapping out of her daze, his assistant scrambled to set his chair upright again. “There you are, Mr. East.”

He sat down absentmindedly without a word of thanks, once again absorbed and lost in his own world.

She turned away to find the sight she’d been trying to capture, a flock of seagulls gathered nearby, had disappeared. “Oh.” She sighed in barely a whisper. Closing her eyes, she recreated the scene in her mind’s eye and breathed a sigh of contentment.   

Maybe This Is How It Feels

The hairs on my arms stand on and when it comes into view, and my breath catches somewhere in my throat. I’ve been waiting for this for so long, looking forward to it, and now, I’m finally here. A breeze hits me as I walk through the gates. The wind washing over me carries more than just cool relief from the warm sunny day. There’s also an air of…. something. Some kind of feeling I can’t quite put my finger on the name of, but a feeling unlike anything I’ve ever felt or experienced before. 

I close my eyes, trying to take it all in one bit at a time. To savour and relish in it. I can’t quite believe it. It feels so surreal. Like I’m existing in some kind of waking dream in place of reality. Like I’ve died and gone to heaven. It’s like… ecstasy. The feeling, not the drug. I haven’t ever experienced the drug, and I don’t plan to. But I imagine this is how it might feel. Maybe they named the drug after the feeling. This feeling. 

Not one of the many people around has said anything to me, exactly. Not explicitly. But there's this understanding. This inherent knowing, that it's ok. That I'm ok. Because everyone is ok. Around me, everyone is just themselves. Without explanation, without justification, without apology. Because there's no need for any of that. Just as it should be. I can't help sighing. I wish it could always be like this. Just for today, how it is. 

Maybe that's what it is, this feeling. I didn't notice it until it was gone, because it's always been there, my whole life. This huge weight. Like I have to fit into a mould there's no way I possibly can do without contorting myself like a circus performer. Like I have to wear a suffocating mask 24/7, straining for air. But suddenly, all of that huge weight is gone. 

Maybe this is how it feels to breathe without restriction. To move without restraint. Maybe this is how it feels to not be carrying weight of pressure and stress to conform around all the time. Maybe this is how it feels when you are allowed to really, truly just be. Maybe this is how it feels to be free. 

Being Human

 I walk through the world on tiptoe, trying to dodge the invisible landmines people think I'm crazy for believing are there. But they are. It only takes stepping on one to cause you to shift into high alert. And I've done it more than once. Having been so careful for so long, longer than I care to remember, I start to relax. But prematurely, it would seem, because then I manage to stumble on to another landmine that results in an explosion. 

In the wake of the explosion, other people stare back at me, as if to say "well, what did you expect?" As if I should have seen it coming. With the amount of explosions I've been through, you'd think I would have learnt to see it coming by now. But I never do see it coming. It always takes me by surprise. Because the thing that other people don't understand is, I'm not like them, and no matter how hard I try, I never will be. I am my own kind of human. One that struggles to understand the other humans I coexist with in the world. The other humans seem to operate by a separate manual they haven't given me a copy of. 

There are warnings of the explosion, they tell me. There are signs alerting to the presence of a landmine nearby. But not any that I see. Not any that I hear. For me, it always seems to come out of nowhere. Maybe these elusive 'warnings' are in a whole other language that I don't speak, and that's why I don't understand. I don't know. There's a lot that I don't know. 

What I do know is that I'm my own kind of human. But being my own kind of human... being human full stop, is tiring. It's too tiring, and it's too hard for me to be. I wish I could be their kind of human, who speaks the language, who knows how to avoid the landmines and who understands. I've tried. I do try. But it's so hard. Being human is too tiring and hard. But what other choice do I have?

The Price We Pay

 “This one is more for me. I don’t think anyone else will see it really, but I need to do it for myself anyway. To get it out if nothing else.” Devi blinked at herself on the screen, then took a deep breath. “So I… I have lost two people recently who were really important to me in different ways, though both were somewhat unexpected and painful. As all losses are, I suppose.”

 

She blinked again in an attempt to ward off the tears waiting just behind her eyes, remembering those she had loved, and now lost. The first was someone she’d known her whole life. He was a close confidant and a cheerleader. Maybe at a distance, but he’d been there the whole way at every step, walking alongside Devi as she navigated the path of life. His loss had been like a punch to the gut and the heart.

 

The other person Devi had lost felt like a knife to the heart, and an extra knife or two in the back for good measure. They had been someone else Devi had considered close. But, little had she known, for her so called ‘friend’, the feeling had been far from mutual… As it turned out, Devi’s kindness, thoughtfulness and generosity in particular, all qualities she’d thought of as assets, were apparently, some kind of burdensome imposition.

 

Knowing that no one else would see this recording was the only thing that kept the embarrassment at bay as a tear fell from her eye. “It feels particularly stupid with them…” The loss was painful in a different way to that of Devi’s lifelong friend. The emotions caught up in that loss made sense. Someone died, you grieved. But with the other friend she’d lost, it was a different kind of loss. A different kind of pain and hurt that she struggled to make much sense of.

 

“Either way,” she concluded, as much as she could, for the camera and herself. “I guess this is a price of sorts. This hurt and this pain, as odd as it feels... It’s the price I pay for having had that relationship, that love that I’ve now lost.” 

It's grief, the voice of a wise friend echoed in Devi's mind. 

"Grief," Devi repeated out loud. "The price we pay for love."  

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This story continues that of Devi. You can read previous instalments here and here.