I haven't written for a while. In the meantime, I have had so many thoughts, and come to so many realisations, and I have made so many conclusions, only to have those conclusions undone and re-worked to form so many new ones, that I can't remember where I left off with this blog or what I was trying to say. I've been like a cloud that constantly shifts in form, breaking off in cloudlets and melding into bigger ones - now a laughing giant with a scarf around his neck, now a scornful pig face, now a running wizard with a very pointy hat- until it disappears like swirling smoke into the vast blue sky. I have felt loneliness, fear, despair, peace, joy, anger, sadness, gratitude, pain and anxiety, all in a matter of months and often all at the same time, and like Alice I have felt myself shrink to the size of a pinhead or grow to the size of the Petronas Towers; sometimes the house seemed so vast and frightening I thought my boat would sink under the massive waves of the ocean enclosed within the four walls, and sometimes the house seemed so small my soul spilled out of the windows and the cracks in the ceiling. I have spent endless hours sitting doing nothing, lamenting the time that passes, and just as many hours running around being busy trying to forget the time that passes. I have read many books and articles in all this time since I last sat to write, and some of the words I've encountered I've clung on to like a security blanket, and I've slept with them in my arms, night after night. I have searched, fruitlessly, for belonging, meaning, Home. A purpose, even. Even a small suspicion of those states of mind has been elusive, the sensations only fleeting. I guess I have been having what people call 'an existential crisis'.
Being a stranger among strangers hinders the resolution of said crisis, though I know it will get better. There's nothing and no one to even momentarily construct a sense of self for me. I have to put in the work of delineating, defining and defending myself against all backgrounds, situations and people, all the time. That might be what growing up is. I certainly feel older. I certainly feel more responsible and accountable for my actions, as well as my feelings. Now, grief runs deep, but so does joy. Now, joy is very conscious, and seldom taken for granted. Those little moments of normality bring great happiness, and sometimes being unconscious of joy takes you by surprise so much that you become conscious of it and then a little sad. Joy is never pure, but always holding hands with sadness. I always thought clouds gave the sky dimension, depth and texture, so I can accept the sadness as part of it all, and say that it gives joy dimension, depth and texture. In fact, I feel like I am on the cusp of breaking open the portal of a fourth dimension, but what it is or what it'll bring I don't know. I just feel I'm on the verge of something great and that gives me some kind of pseudo-meaning to keep keeping on. Does this even make sense to anyone?