This is a matter of perspective.
The hard shadows on my white walls demand attention. They seem to be staunch, like there’s no fickleness about them. 4:26am, my eyes have been twitching all day yesterday. I’m sure it is a combination of stress, lack of sleep, and a silly attempt of my body trying to exorcise my unproductive writing efforts as of late. I have not had time to pause truly for myself, though I always think I do.
I require lots of time. And for that, on the contrary of the the-more-you-have-it-the-less-it-means principle, I am recognizing my time as precious and valuable. I have found its worthiness. I have this in mind even when I’m toiling away at the cafe I work at. It’s so easy to fall into this intersectional ordeal of following the norm, plus some sort of masochistic rhythm of my “dream and passions”. By the latter, in my own definition, it means gaining insight into a capitalist network of cafe politics and observing human interactions. I’m following the crowd, mindlessly scrolling through my phone for temporary laughs and fixes, conforming to the latest craze of social media just to fit in. But I do so purposely in order to be in the background - witnessing the world as I would like to. I remind myself — it’s all for the story, experiences, and people. I expect people to come to me presenting opportunities, trusting my own character. But at the same time, I rarely reach out because of hurt, oversensitivity, and choosing to prolong, even surrender, in moments of great emotions. This paragraph is a lot of jumble perhaps, and I think we eventually tire at some point when we spiral. So I will not attempt to explain further.
Back on the “expecting people to come to me,” I don’t think it’s fully inherently wrong about it. I have confidence in myself to be recognized by good people. I defend myself so as well, because it has been burdening throughout the years to be told to stop expecting things. I forfeit. One must expect. It’s how we aim and shoot high. Of course, I can perhaps dial this ambition down. I think what they’re all trying to say is to don’t hurt yourself by disappointment.
I start to recognize the shadows on my walls during these sleepless nights as I am reaching for words to express all that I am. The shadows are hard only because of directional light emanating from my lamp that is up close. And I like these silhouettes because of their sharp definitions. It’s a projection that makes sense. Metaphorically speaking, it’s seldom nowadays to see true projections of others. As for me, it’s a hard look at my own perspective on things. I’d be aware that it’s metacognition, a vocabulary word gifted to me in sixth grade.
The midnight oil burns, and it’s always in times like these that I feel safe. I’ve had these moments in the seven bedrooms I have lived in my lifetime so far and in 24/7 cafes with my skin pores drenched in coffee aromatics and goosebumped by the invigorating chilled air. Most notably, I’ve had them in car rides before I’d drive to the pier to see twilight transition to sunrise… In these moments, this moment, in my place, the earth is coming out of its shadow.
The sun is almost rising now. It’s maybe setting in Tokyo, sunny in Paris, still cold but hygge in Norway. There’s a waterfall going somewhere. The beautiful places still exist. I just have to visit them someday. The day is almost here, and I wish I could be forever alive to know this feeling over and over again.