TO EXIST
AMONG OTHERS

Wobbling soft legs won’t allow me to get out of this cubicle of mine.

I wonder how one finds the will to gather, to chat, to share.

“Let’s meet” you said.
Meet and do what? Gather, chat, share? Meet why?Why meet?Why wouldn’t I allow myself to be where I want to be?

I do what I please. And I please myself with what I do. Everything I need is right here in my surroundings. I can reach it with a single soft stretch.


A pleasing soft stretch.

Okay. I will go outside. I know I said
I wouldn’t but I will. I don’t want to but
I will. I don’t see the need to but I will.
My all body and inner self begs me not
to but I will. 


“Go outside, meet new people, you’ll have fun”. I can still hear the echo of my mother’s words in my head. From time to time they come to me. I never understood them and I believe I never will.

Words with a paradoxical sense to them.

“people”                   “fun”

Why is it? Why is it that people believe my heart will dance along to other people’s words? Why not my own? I believe I have quite a melodical voice actually. What is it in their heads that makes them believe my definition of “fun” is equal to the one my neighbor perceives?

I have nothing in common with my neighbor. Not a single thing. I have never even saw her face. How would I? She’s never home. I hear her talk really loud, she’s always on her phone. For a long time
I thought that there were three different people living in that house. That’s why
I find myself imagining the twists and turns her all body and soul has to do in order to win a smile from everyone she chats a bit.

People say they are trapped inside their houses. They just want to go outside and be with whomever.
They “want to be free”.

You want to be free by going outside? By following instructions? By living according to this social dictatorship? You want to be free by being in a crowd? By pretending to like the ones you don’t? By being completely helpless from a judgmental and armful species?

At home I laugh. I really laugh. I laugh with a big snore in the end. At home
I talk. I really talk. I don’t shape my words according to what you want to hear. 
At home I sneeze. I really sneeze.
I don’t hug my nose with my arm. 
At home I dance. I really dance. I move whatever I feel like moving. At home
I pray. I really pray. I pray to who wants to hear. At home I paint. I really paint.
I paint with my fingers, my hands, my toes. I paint with will. At home I cry. I really cry. I cry with joy I cry with pain.
I cry for no reason at all and for all the reasons in the world. I cry with all my body not just the allowed parts. I cry lying down I cry standing up. I cry till
I have no more tears to carry on. I cry for myself and for nobody else.
‍I cry with no shame. No shame at all. 

At home I laugh, talk, sneeze, dance, pray, paint and cry. I do all these things at home by myself or with whomever
I really want to share it with.

And you don’t. You don’t because you laugh, talk, sneeze, dance, pray, paint and cry for everybody but yourself. You shape your figure so that it matches to everyone’s wishes but your own.

You laugh with no snore. You talk with no passion. You sneeze like it’s not allowed. You dance for someone to watch. You pray to fit in. You paint with nothing but brushes.


And you do your best not to cry at all. Because you are no human. You have no emotions. Crying is weakening. And no one cares for a weak one.

My sweaty palm now stains the virginal
doorknob. It twitches as it painfully goes down. I don’t want to do it either,
I can promise you that.
Keys check.
Wallet check.
Phone check.
Will to go on, not quite sure. 
‍

                                     
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(Why am I doing this really?)
Lock the door so that I can’t go back.
(I will though, it’s okay…)

Push the round unappetizing elevator button. And now the waiting.
The never-ending waiting.

I had enough time to unlock the door, strip myself from all this anxiety that makes my heart bang like it never banged before and throw myself into that welcoming wave of comfort that hugs me and begs me not to go.

I’m tempted to [ding] not anymore.

Closing myself inside this trap. That’s the feeling. That one exactly. I’m now trapped and will forever be trapped until I unlock that door again. Sometimes I think I’m claustrophobic. Every single time that door is locked behind me I run out of air. My attempts to inhale are effortless since there is no air to breath. Not for me at least. My key turning to its right sucks down all the air that once filled my room and myself. It is left inside my haven while I am taken outside by this cage that’s supposed to be mine. It doesn’t feel mine at all. That feeling in the stomach from the landing. From the landing? Or from the anticipation of what’s coming? I can’t quite tell anymore.

This is it. The last opportunity. Once
I go through that door I can’t go back anymore. Not until I meet you. Not until
I complete this task of mine. I said I would
so I will. Wobbling unreliable legs, I need you to guide me. I need you to carry me. If you won’t I don’t know who will. Uncertain footsteps are left behind as I draw my path towards what seems nowhere.

Head banging, eyes shutting, dragging limbs, it’s almost as my body is telling me to go to sleep.

“It’s no use for you to be awake, you already did enough. Go rest.”

Fighting that urge by stomping my feet on the sidewalk and swinging my arms because I want them to swing not because they want to. “I know I am going to enjoy it” I keep repeating in my head. “They are your favorite people; these are the ones you want to be around”. I have
to stop myself from assuming that going outside will always be a burden. With you it won’t. I am right to assume such thing since most of the times it really turns out to be one, I end up coming back home with that feeling of a lost day.

But with you it never is. With you I laugh, talk, sneeze, dance, pray, paint and cry. And you do too. And we do it for ourselves. And we do all of these things just like when we are alone.

I see you. You’re both waving your arm frenetically. You are excited to see me. As am I.
‍
I count five arms now. Just two of them excited. Why do you do this? Two arms
is enough for me, for us.
Why put ourselves through this?

Waving our arm to people we don’t want to wave our arm to.

I am not excited to see them
I came to see you.

And you really aren’t excited to be with them either. You just can’t separate yourself from it yet. Here we are now.
You made me gather, chat, share. Stirring my coffee till it’s dead cold. Maybe I can go home then. I can hear myself laugh as
I paint and cry as I pray. But they’re just memories or wishes for what awaits me.

Why am I here? I should have heard myself. I should have trusted myself. I know better. A burden once more. Weakened frenetic legs of mine. Take me home.

The sound of the key fitting perfectly on the door lock. That’s it. That’s what makes my heart dance along. Something about unscrewing what once was tightly screwed.

The permission to go inside. I take all of the fake enthusiasm off my shoulders now. How light is it when you don’t make yourself express what you don’t actually feel.

The true joy. The true joy lies here. Right here. In worn off rug, in these unstirred cups of coffee, in this childishly painted canvas. The banging in my head stopped. The relief. I can feel myself rejuvenating as I walk down what resembles an aisle. Ready to welcome me into the world of commitment. I do. I really do. I do take this as my lawfully wedded life. I want this and nothing more. I want the power of choice.

I want the selfish thinking, the putting myself first, the doing what feels right. And what feels nice right now is just lay on the floor.

So I will. Laying on the floor feeling the cold stone tightening my skin and my mind. Rejoicing my all self with this empowering feeling.

I do what I want when I want.
And that is to be with myself.
No obligations, no restrictions,
no social rules.

Just me and my wishes. That is what makes me wake up from my sleep, beholding dreams with eyes wide open. And now I am not tired anymore.

I wasn’t quiet, I wasn’t shy, I wasn’t weird. 
I was just tired. Tired of not complying to
my deepest needs. Tired of the play pretend.
Tired of forcing myself to react how I wasn’t conceived to.

And now I’ll close my eyes. Not because
I am tired. Just because I want to.

TO EXIST AMONG OTHERS PROJECT