Video: https://vimeo.com/89008943
Personal Narrative:
Personal narratives have never been anything short of a struggle for me. The very thought of having to pen a personal experience to paper sends my mind into a state of oblivion and unrest. Time slips away and somehow the daunting white page seems to only glow larger. My brain pulsates, the thoughts comes to mind like wildfire but their impact is lost in the translation from mind to matter.
Personal Narrative:
Personal narratives have never been anything short of a struggle for me. The very thought of having to pen a personal experience to paper sends my mind into a state of oblivion and unrest. Time slips away and somehow the daunting white page seems to only glow larger. My brain pulsates, the thoughts comes to mind like wildfire but their impact is lost in the translation from mind to matter.
The
puzzlement of this progression of mental matter to an inability to rendition is
a familiar one. As far back as I can remember, I’ve always chosen the internal
route of self-expression over external exposure. I’ve always chosen to avoid
taking about matters concerning myself, regardless of how immaterial or
revealing they might be. A possible personal flaw, but one that I always find
myself repeating. The medium is irrelevant, be it paper, speech or another the
block persists. Opening myself to unfamiliarity and on most occasions’ familiarity
is a series of battles.
A few days ago I met a random man in a hallway. He was what some would term the epitome of Boulder – unshaven with an entitled sense of neglect, immersed deep in his thoughts that his words were no more than disjoint rambles while the rest of him hinted of natural newly legal fragrance. He stood atop of a wet carpet; it posed as his podium attracting an audience, amidst an empty hallway, a true beatnik.
A few days ago I met a random man in a hallway. He was what some would term the epitome of Boulder – unshaven with an entitled sense of neglect, immersed deep in his thoughts that his words were no more than disjoint rambles while the rest of him hinted of natural newly legal fragrance. He stood atop of a wet carpet; it posed as his podium attracting an audience, amidst an empty hallway, a true beatnik.
He
began to chatter, telling tales of his life, of injustice and adventure, of
seas and lands and of riddles and truths. He must have been in his mid forties,
he had a wisdom about him that grows with experience but that wasn’t it, there
was something else. Something about him that seemed so relatable. He talked on
a while, hazardly leaping from one thought to another, enthusiastic with a
sense of indignation at life. Passionate to leave no thought unturned in a mind
convoluted with thoughts.
It was then he said it, casually, almost as if he could read my mind “I’m one of those people, I don’t quite know how to deal with personal situations. I’m so overly sensitive that my mind shuts down at any hint of unhappiness”. And that was it. It didn’t strike me quite then but in a breath he had told me something so personally insightful about myself and he didn’t even know it.
I have thought of his words far longer than our conversation lasted, and even now they linger. I have contemplated the weight of each word; it’s meaning and its embodiment through my own fears of evading unhappiness and the consequential vulnerability that comes with opening up.
I did once however, manage to push the anxiety aside, a few years ago I opened up to somebody. In eventuality he broke my heart though we’d play the blame game, and he’d argue I broke his. The wave of unsettling emotion that sent me through ensured an ever-enhanced weariness of people and extinguished the desire to expose myself to anyone. Till date, it hasn’t been too taxing; by sharing impersonal information, smiles and nods instead of matters personal to me I’ve managed to reach a happy medium. Though psychologically I know this isn’t a favorable course, and it’s one I need to empower myself to steer away from, not towards.
It has been said everything happens for a reason, and maybe meeting that animated stranger was being handed the paddle. In the second draw of my dresser I’ve a stack of photos hidden that no one knows about, my favorite birthday present is a sewing machine shaped pencil sharpener I got when I was three, I find myself immensely trusting everyone I meet and yet no one at the same time and more than anything looking up at the stars gives me a sense of belonging.
These are things that shouldn’t have to be kept a secret, but through some irrationality have been. This is only the surface and there is a long list, and a long way to go, but time is not of the essence. This week, compare to most has been as uneventful as the last except for one small change. I guess it’s strange how much you can gather from coincidence, regardless of how fleeting the experience or event might actually be.
It was then he said it, casually, almost as if he could read my mind “I’m one of those people, I don’t quite know how to deal with personal situations. I’m so overly sensitive that my mind shuts down at any hint of unhappiness”. And that was it. It didn’t strike me quite then but in a breath he had told me something so personally insightful about myself and he didn’t even know it.
I have thought of his words far longer than our conversation lasted, and even now they linger. I have contemplated the weight of each word; it’s meaning and its embodiment through my own fears of evading unhappiness and the consequential vulnerability that comes with opening up.
I did once however, manage to push the anxiety aside, a few years ago I opened up to somebody. In eventuality he broke my heart though we’d play the blame game, and he’d argue I broke his. The wave of unsettling emotion that sent me through ensured an ever-enhanced weariness of people and extinguished the desire to expose myself to anyone. Till date, it hasn’t been too taxing; by sharing impersonal information, smiles and nods instead of matters personal to me I’ve managed to reach a happy medium. Though psychologically I know this isn’t a favorable course, and it’s one I need to empower myself to steer away from, not towards.
It has been said everything happens for a reason, and maybe meeting that animated stranger was being handed the paddle. In the second draw of my dresser I’ve a stack of photos hidden that no one knows about, my favorite birthday present is a sewing machine shaped pencil sharpener I got when I was three, I find myself immensely trusting everyone I meet and yet no one at the same time and more than anything looking up at the stars gives me a sense of belonging.
These are things that shouldn’t have to be kept a secret, but through some irrationality have been. This is only the surface and there is a long list, and a long way to go, but time is not of the essence. This week, compare to most has been as uneventful as the last except for one small change. I guess it’s strange how much you can gather from coincidence, regardless of how fleeting the experience or event might actually be.
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