In every moment of solitude, i lose chunks of clinging thoughts that molded me and stuck with me through out the passing years of my life. Every mistake I made that resulted a pinch on my right thigh. Every thought I formed in my mind from something I saw that I wasn’t supposed to see, and the things that were forcefully spoon-fed to me even though I thought it tasted a little too salty, which left some sort of a longterm discomfort.
When i’m on my own, i let loose every unwanted thought and memory, just to know what might come out of it.
I allowed every thing I never gave time to understand that was locked inside of me, to wash over me. To confront me.
I still don’t understand, but I never held back like I used to. I still keep uncovering layer after layer just like the game of tearing layers of wrapping paper off of a certain object until you finally reveal it. A tattered game played in every lousy birthday party i’ve been to when i was a kid.
My mind is always numb when i’m on my own. It never pushes me. It always gives me more time. And I don’t feel the stress of the extra time given to me, like I used to when I asked for it from my teacher to answer the math equation I don’t even know the answer to.
My mind is understanding and patient. It gives me my desired extra time to answer. What am I trying to answer?
I do not know.
It seems like only in solitude I get a glimpse of what is waiting to be answered. But until that happens, i’ll be spending some time on my own.
Painting by Fabio Hurtado , “Solitude” (1999).