A Collection of Experiences

Over the past few months, I’ve been writing down meaningful feelings or experiences in the form of story ideas. I write down what stood out as well as the actual event that prompted the writing. My plan is to incorporate everything, somehow, into either short stories or a book. I only just wrote about how I wanted my next book to be a series of essays. As usual, I’m not sure what I’ll actually do. Recent events have made me want to focus more on these stories.

I left my job. The circumstances were rather abrupt, but now I’m free to do whatever I want. Of course, I have absolutely no idea what I want to do, but should I ever figure that out, I’m free to do it. One of the first things I did was go with a friend to an art gallery opening. This was a new place, somewhere I’ve never seen before. I met the owner who ran for her life the moment my friend introduced me and said, “He was just showing me some pictures…” I then met some “high society” people who walked straight out of a movie: talking about their art collections and foreign partners. I also met the artist of the gallery. She was one of the only normal people, and I quite liked her and her work. It was inspiring to see something different, but the people there were unlike anyone I’ve encountered in my life.

I’m taking care of a cat. A friend is traveling for a week, and I’m watching her cat. I grew up with cats and dogs beyond count, though I’ve never had to take care of an animal on my own. I can’t say I like it; it’s certainly a new experience. I’ll admit that I now understand why people have pets of their own, but I need my peace. And space.

I still see my friends. These days, I’ve been spending time with different crowds. Some people new, some people old. It’s a nice change. However, not having a job makes time feel strange. I wrote previously about people not being free during the daytime. Now, I’m free every day. Despite having plenty of people, there’s still so much time to fill alone. To that end, I’ve been experimenting with my photography. I’m still collecting old books, studying Russian and Icelandic, and teaching. Still meeting with my groups, planning and organizing events.

What I have not been doing is writing. I left my job because of internal disagreements. The place won’t change in the way we workers wanted it to. A lot people left before me. A few more are in the process of leaving now. Regardless, 15 months is a long time to be somewhere. I think a lot of my energy was wasted on trying to make do with the place. It was simply a job. It was never my dream nor anything I ever wanted to do. It’s simply a shame because that place had so much potential to be great. It could have been a beautiful place to work. It was for short while. I’m stuck on the question of why it couldn’t improve: reach its potential — why I had to leave.

Who am I now? Always the same question. I drift, but I don’t know where to. At least I can grab onto experiences as they flow by for my collection. I want to give them the honor of expression in the form of art: be it photography or stories. I want to have a voice and be heard. I also want peace. And, like anyone else, I want happiness.

I feel a sense of direction not from within myself, but from the world at large. I feel like I’m being pulled this way and that, always with some grander intention. I wouldn’t exactly say that it brings me peace, rather a feeling of acceptance. Through art, I am able to turn wherever I may be into something meaningful — an expression to be shared. Though with so much going on and so much changing, I find it hard to find mental space to do the expressing.

I met with a friend today who managed to survive my diatribe on what’s wrong with the modern world and how things could or should be. The point that is never resolved is how to have anything. I could make peace with where I am in life. I could settle with what I have. There’s nothing more that I need. As I deluged to my friend, it isn’t fair that I should be a lucky one who’s able to walk away. Everyone deserves the chance to decide for themselves who they are and what they want — without getting trapped in the rat race.

The only thing I can do with these thoughts and feelings is to honor them via expression. There’s really nothing else to do, at least not for now. Yet I haven’t been in the headspace to do that. All I can do is keep collecting. I did manage to start one piece; I haven’t gotten far, but I’ll end with its beginning:

I come from the grandest city. By whose words is the city grand? People flock there to see for themselves. In awe, they stand, at sights before them. But the city to me is not grand. Visitors walk in the light of day. Reality wakes with the distant moon. I come from the grandest city. Where the streets at night are filled with screams and faces in windows reflect their tears. The beauty of the day is the hiding of the night whose beauty is the truth.