Splinter

i fell into a tunnel. and not unlike the tunnel to wonderland, it is either very deep or i am falling very slowly. the transit time gives me the opportunity to revisit the far past and also to consider if i had thought about how i was going to get out. i suppose i haven’t, because here i am, not knowing where i’m going to end up or if there is even a way out of wherever i find myself. maybe despite any form of rationalization this is still what i am all about — the journey and not the destination. but it is easy to say that, just as it is easy to escape. it is easy to feel fortuitous and push my luck. it is, unbelievably enough, so easy to love. but i am alone now, with nothing but my own thoughts, music and a book i chose, with no tangible mementos except the fleeting, flitting stardust in my porous mind. perhaps this is how i deserve to be — by myself and grasping at golden threads as i fall.

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january usually feels like a period of awakening. i keep urging myself to put place-markers along the path on which i am stumbling, to remind myself of how i felt at pivotal moments, or the decisions that i find i’ve dreamed myself into, lest i end up changing my mind or forgetting key events. this place-marking is critical. when i was very young, i cried easily whenever chastised or hit by grown-ups. very often they would scream at me to stop crying. this was something i could never understand — how can adults hurt another person and scream at them to stop crying? i always wanted to scream back, it is not easy to stop crying when you’ve started crying! especially when you are in pain! it is altogether some mix of stopping yourself from breathing, swallowing hiccups and quelling your very anxious heart — it is just not possible. and so i promised myself that when i am older and have to deal with crying children, i must never forget that it is not possible for someone who has started crying to stop themselves from crying instantly, and that i should not make them feel sorry or terrible for not being able to do so. adults are forgetful and as they grow older they think they know everything because they have the benefit of hindsight and experience. but this thing about the crying: it is something my 6 year old self knows is true and important and will carry forever into the future. my only wish for this cold but hopeful january is that my 25 year old self can be as strong, steadfast and clear-minded.

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