Sid Richmond

I can’t seem to understand anything clearly in my life today; except that it is a playground of romantic confusion and that I feel an exhilarating love and admiration for living life this morning, however inexplicable it may seem at moments; it is undeniably beautiful in its entirety.

I am sitting in the bus terminal writing to you because I don’t know of anything else that can even be done on such a compelling day as this. Everything I see around me today appears differently than it had once appeared. I can’t help but admire the calm, complacent look on the face of the Asian bus ticket vendor as I approach his booth, he appears almost blissful in his state of indifference. The woman’s eyes, in the next booth over, appear weary and sad; and seem so intoxicatingly raw and human. The seagulls scatter along the messy bus terminal floor, gurgling incessantly, while shuffling and fluttering about absent mindedly at our feet seem to be dancing and cooing lovingly, like they are courting in some strange birdly love; something I will surely never understand, and so I shake my head, I glance at the clock; a shiny, bronze object ticking gloomily in the distance, and I wonder if it is tired of telling time to a careless world that feels nothing for it, that only ever takes its presence for granted.

I smile, and I can’t help but admire everything around me. I feel, today, as if I’ve never truly seen people, or pigeons, or buildings, or buses, or bus seats; everything seems as if under a much different light, a light of sincerity come down crashing, and all to illuminate, a deeper, more infinite meaning in all things I see.

(ii)

It is difficult to overlook the way people act with one another when in the company of perfect strangers; everybody is so fascinated with one another, they browse each other with reluctant and seemingly unenthusiastic eyes, yet you can see it stirring in their eyes; an insatiable curiosity, a loneliness longing to be freed, laughed upon, and smiled through. There is a desire to express all that is in their hearts, to be received with kindness by those strangers that surround them, yet they remain silent and idle to the situation at hand.

You can see something hidden in the faces of strangers as they watch and observe each other, some glance through the crowd with an air of contempt, but only because they are bitterly locked their own universe, barred from any love that could be available to them down in this one. And I to, have been guilty for this, and continue to be, and I can’t help but look around me and wonder why, for what reason--does every single person around me wake?--what do they hope for in the rising sun, what do they wish to see in the coming morning, with the changing of weather, what is it that they desire beyond these daily mundane events?

(iii)

I have spent the majority of the day writing, and if not writing, entirely absorbed in thoughts, which in essence is the core of writing. So my day has only been spent writing, just sometimes free of paper or pen. I am feeling so many strange things today. I feel like I am splitting apart at the core. I am separating into two different selves, and it is distressing, just as it is profoundly beautiful and exciting. I feel that so much change is entirely possible, that there is a new self waiting to be fully realized and it is my duty now to discover it, however difficult that task may be.

I am determined to do so, in order to reach you. This is what the essence of you has become, the idea of you, the colossal imaginary friend you are today in my mind now sitting at my side listening with inquisitive, questioning eyes, demanding that I make a valiant effort to explain who I am, and what I desire of my existence. And I don’t hesitate to tell you all that is in my heart, everything. I tell you, the one by my side, my life as I perceive it in an attempt to solve the mystery I’ve become.

It is this presence in my life that instills a sense of obligation to face the truth, to be bold, and to embrace this momentum of change. I’m not sure if you could realize how powerful these feelings do strike me today, and I’m finding that I can no longer separate my writing from you, or you from my writing, and so they are just one and the same; and I am lost in this place, though I don’t exactly know where this place is.

Today, all day, I’ve been striving to write, if not my best work yet, than my favourite work to date. All this only because there is you in the back of my head to answer to, and the vague hope that maybe someone will understand the things that do bombard my head and parade me into seeking creative solace. It is because of my resoluteness to explain me, the secret place I’m gone to always, to you---that drives me to grow as a writer; to become more fluent, more captivating, and above all---unique.

Are my words too fancy? Do they dance around the message or the meaning too much, never saying what should be said? I am not sure, but I question these things, because I want to know you, to know me, to know everything, to know why this day, this place, this time, this world; is so immensely moving, so invigorating to taste, to touch, to hold, and to learn from.

(iv)

I want to know why this presence stirs something in my heart and soul that I can’t fully grasp, and inevitably causes so much inner dialogue to roar up inside me, so that I am asking myself the most uplifting questions of my life in hopes of improving it. And I don’t care anymore, I can’t make everyone happy, I can’t please everyone, I can’t ever be perfect, I don’t know what I want other than to always have this presence play a part in my life. And with this said a sense of resolve does settle inside me, and everything that is in a violent flurry around me, all that seems to be shattered and washed away, everything that is aimlessly blown in the wind, lost to the infinitesimal chaos of the background in the world, for one moment; ceases to even exist when these words do form in my mind and come to life on the page.

It’s clear as its ever been, this coming in a time of clarity, so that the rest can go hang--the violent distractions that life can be lost to, the negativity that perpetually threatens to seep into every instance, pending disaster, the dissonance that demands our attention be paid to it on a daily basis--it all seems ridiculous, needlessly important, trivial, and absurd to be caught up with, and I don’t care for it anymore, I want to stop running to my dark place, I want to let you in if you wish to visit, I want you to visit, I want to know you, learn from you; to discover what makes you.

Advertisement