It’s 10:00pm, and the world around me is silent. Nothing can be heard from my room, expect for the ticking of the clocks and the hurried typing produced from my fingers. A vehicle is roaring outside, probably some annoying motorcyclist that wants to grab somebody’s attention in the dark of night. A plane is heard from above, its engines echoing into the distance. I wonder where it’s going, or where it came back from. New York City? Paris? Bali? Melbourne? I speculate about places kilometres away, as I wildly type from my desk, clearly procrastinating from studying.
I pause, slowly turning my hot coffee with a metal spoon. The clinking of the metal with the porcelain mug produces an irregular rhythm. I’ve got ear buds in each ear, but I’m not listening to anything at all. I don’t take it off, for some reason I feel vulnerable if I do.There’s something so delightful about the concept of music. Usually I listen to music as the irregularity of the outside world makes me feel unstable, unsure, in other words- boring. But, alas, once the ear buds are in, my brain is navigated to a place worlds away. The rhythm of the beat aligns with the rhythm of my heart. Everything falls into place. The walking pace of the pedestrians align with the drums, your hand aligns with the bass of the guitar. Everything is so perfect, so organised.
However, the music ends and the world forces its chaotic presence in front of you. The realization hits you with a dull impact. Disorganization and dissonance of reality leaves you speechless and tiresome,and you long for the fantastical world you just came from. The world where everything was predictable, I knew what came next as the rhythm never betrayed me. Every surprise bought delight to my ears, the bridge was always anticipated. But in this life, it’s so hard to predict anything. Every surprise isn’t always good, not everyone is in harmony with each other or themselves. Life isn’t like a song, where everything fits perfectly together. It’s loud, tumultuous, disturbing even. It demands to be heard. It’s terrifying.
And here I am, sitting here, vulnerable. My ear buds are out, and my coffee I’d been gulping down eagerly is now one-tenth of what it once was. The clock is still ticking away, cars are still driving on the busy road. I’m so uncertain. Of who I am, who I want, who I will be in this life.
The silence around me echoes these thoughts louder than ever. Ironically, the silence is so dreadfully painstakingly loud. Even the hustle and bustle of city life is more comforting than silence, with taxi cars and small chatter drowning my personal sorrow and worries.
live like to be invested in other people’s lives more than my own, it’s easier that way. Isn’t it weird how the person you’ve been running from is yourself? Like two different entities, except that they’re both you. Why are we so scared of who we are? Maybe because after all these years, the only person we’d completely trust is us, and when we finally realise who we actually are, we’re too scared to confront ourselves. Too scared to accept change in a person we thought was a safe entity, a voice of stability, a shield from vulnerability.
I’m rambling too much. The fear of my business exam looms above me, it’s strength increasing minute by minute. I’m not sure if I’ll ever post this, if anyone other else than me sees these words. My typing slows dramatically, I’m at a loss for words. I don’t know how to end this, but most importantly, I don’t even know why I created this. It doesn’t make sense. There is no satisfying ending, no moral, no rhythm, no repeating chorus. There’s no point of any of this. But it’s an experience.
Maybe that’s the point. Life isn’t predictable and sure as hell isn’t harmonious. At some points in my life, I’ve questioned why I’m even living and what’s the point. I’ve spent my life running away from reality, consuming culture that creates worlds other than what I’m living in. But, it doesn’t make it any less great. Maybe there is no point. Sounds terrifying but it’s a possibility. There is no moral, no purpose. It’s no song, but it’s an experience. Meaning isn’t set before you like a catchy rhythm, it’s up to you to set a beat. It’s up to your actions, your beliefs, your standards. There may be no satisfying conclusion. But, you can make it one.
I sound too cliche. In about 843 words, I have reached no conclusion. I think I’m going to leave it here. I’m so confused about what I just created. It’s messy and inarticulate. But how do I end this? It doesn’t feel right just to end it here. Let me be an asshole and just end it as life would sometimes do to people. Unexpectedly and without reasoning. Abrupt, unsatisfying and unjust. Just like what I’m about to
Edit 2/11/16: My examinations have finished and I still have no idea why I was compelled to write this. I’m going to post it anyway, I can’t stand deleting it or keeping it in my drafts forever.