I ask myself the question

Why I fall in line

Why are we doing all this? What’s the point?

I’m scared. It’s unsettling.

I remember the feeling. It happened to me before. Just the question was different. Where am I?

One particular image keeps coming back to me. The everlasting job of a sandy figure that keeps on building itself in a storm. It’s being constantly destroyed by the wind. It keeps on maintaining its blurry form. Even though it will be deconstructed by the wind times and again. The dance never ends. This makes me sad. Deeply. Almost unbearably. And I can’t note any separate emotion, any body sensation, just anything to put my finger on. Everything is smudged, like a photo that even a sharpen editor wouldn’t cure.

I find solace being curled up in a corner with a hood over the head. Not for reals. Imagining is enough.

I know that life is a dynamic balance. The constant pursuit, aspiration, longing. We keep on reaching out, looking forward, seeking. We will never be satisfied with what we have, once we reach it. We’ll go on striving, aspiring, stretching further. There’s no stop to this. We stop, we die. You can’t ride a surf board in still water. Only being pushed by the wave you can get on and have fun.

I used to be quite ok with this idea. It didn’t disturb me. It was the way it is, will be and always was. But something changed. Some nudging is crawling inside me. I’m not observing it calmly. I’m not at peace.

So, why? Why do I do this? Why do I have to do this?

Something tells me that the point is to enjoy whatever there is, experiences, emotions, situations. But it’s not satisfying at all. Not calming. Not enough. I know it’s just the period for new and queer exploration. Though it is really daunting to be here.