Confined, perhaps? Too medical. Ambushed is too CNN for me, let alone ensnared (it sounds like I was stuck in the pages of the Harry Potter series–but I don’t mind).
This photo, while it looks like it doesn’t make any sense at all, actually does. It also best embodies the phase that I went through and I guess I still am going through. I also don’t want to make use of my usual way of talking in restless riddles or writing the way I think think/talk. I will try to be scholarly and detached; as if I’m telling you story in a dim foggy room, while our bodies experience profuse intoxication and little by little, the world starts to spin and sober thoughts make their way through our alcohol-ridden mouths.
I was the point of view. I was the audience to my own play. Day by day turning into the spectator instead of the main character of my own life. I have tried to define myself, but end up defying such attempt to explain, to expound, to give meaning to something that I felt that I didn’t own.
Yesterday, they were playing the same old film. A painful two hours that chronicled my shortcomings, frustrations and incapacity to act against them. I was having a Clockwork Orange moment, strapped to my seat not by chains but something I could not understand. Something that anchored me to mediocrity, a force only I could feel.
And I go through the same screening time again and again, twice or four times a month. No one but my passiveness forcing me to sit and stare, to feel the pain but fail to get rid of it otherwise. I had time and again feared the time when waters turned into ice–maybe not forever, but definitely with no intention of melting to soon.
Was it passiveness? I hope not but sometimes I can’t help think that I have successfully failed to respond. I am slowly believing that was no longer in a constant battle against drowning into oblivion–because, as I see it now, there was no struggle in the first place. I was headed to a single direction, head first into the pit of 50%, I was too absorbed with my own thoughts and visions that my body could no longer wait.
As I said, I am the point of view. I am still, frozen through time. Tomorrow is forever blocked, hazy and uncertain because of the mirror that kept me, trapped me, to my faults and failures of the past. Thus, I trip, I pretend, I guess, I have no knowledge of the other side. There is no one to blame but myself, me–who chose to look, to dwell, to remain in the realm of memories.
But a single part of me still believes that one day, when the credits roll, I shall get up from my seat, attempt to face what still awaits and trip and gain sight from all this clear blindness. I just hope the fall will not be permanent.