Fear…
People are afraid. I’m afraid. There is some thrill in fear which compels us to want to be afraid. It’s simply human to be afraid. The heavy beating of heart, the numbness of arms, the uneasy calm comes from somewhere inside. It’s a desire to be safe, a yearning to be there with known face. Yes, choice is the fear.
There’s this song ‘people are strange when you are a stranger, faces look ugly when you are alone’, I don’t understand why but it moves me every time I listen to it. Is it something about strangers which induces fear, or is it just the notion of being a stranger? I think the latter. A gazeful eye, a humming whisper, a seamless smile or a cheerful anger all seems to be directed at you when a stranger. Strange as it may seem no one wants to be a stranger. We all seek notices, we wait umpteen spans, we write, we draw, we sing, at the end we all are flawed, afraid of being lonely and unimportant.
Do you ever feel a rush stepping out of your house, doing things you want to without weighing out the logic? A part of me never wants to leave. A part of me has never left. The premises of my home, the loot of my friends, the company of a fellow stranger, the presence of acquaintances. I linger in those frames still wondering if I hadn’t left. Passé estranged.
No one was gonna eat me up if had decided to stay back, I always wanted to, no one would. But I made my choice and did what was done. I moved away or they, we all left the lumps of goodbyes and the troubling fear of did we made the right choice. Reason helped us out, but that’s never enough, time is needed to wash down the effect of biding adieu.
I don’t like it here, I can’t stand these people, and I wish I could die. But when come the moment comes of libration from all these, some part of me rebels out, seeking solace in times gone by. I fear things will change, I fear aging, I fear of never being the same. You tend to love whatever you are, ugly as it may be, even that pain contributed in making of you. I would like to meet again; surely I would, but then kicks in the fear that this reunion may kill all the images so dear to heart. I fear reunions but the rush is worth a shot.
I wouldn’t have left, and met you, if I wasn’t thrilled by the fear of unknown. It may be different for you but nothings like knowing the choice to stay back and yet deciding to reason strange. Nobody remembers your name, you are strange. Faces come out of the rain…
I want to meet people.
