For most of my life, I’ve wanted to be alone – far away from the drone of noises crying excitement; away from the blaring horns of buses and cars; away from the busyness that surrounds life.
At times, I’d wish the ground would open up and swallow me inside into a world of maddening oblivion. In those times, everything felt hazy. Every step I took made me feel immensely tired. Yet I wanted to run away to some place where nobody could find me.
“I want to be alone,” I’d tell them when they’d coax me to attend their parties.
“I want to be alone,” I’d tell them when I’d be fighting the adamant tears from escaping.
“I want to be alone,” I’d tell them when they’d ask me if I were okay.
“I want to be alone,” and they’d quickly scurry off in a desperate attempt to give me some space. They’d always respect my decision and desire and wouldn’t bother to ring me up until I did so.
Now that I think of those times, I find myself wondering if I really wanted to be alone.
When I told them I wanted to be alone, a part of me feverishly craved for someone to stay behind an offer me a shoulder to cry on.
When I told them I wanted to be alone, I wanted someone to stay behind and hear me out.
When I told them I wanted to be alone, I wanted them not to leave.
When I told them I wanted to be alone, I meant, I didn’t want to be.
I agree we have complicated notions. Complicated emotions.When we are, in fact, bubbling with so much to say, we cut short with a simple ‘Nothing’. When tears prick our eyes, we blink them back and smile. When we are hurting deep inside, we still manage to pick ourselves up and walk.
It is about knowing what those sweet nothings hold. It is about knowing what those smiles hide. It is about knowing that no matter how strong a person pretends to be, they still have a vulnerable side.
And how I wish, back then, each time I’d uttered, “I want to be alone,” someone would have pulled me into a hug and whispered, “No. I know you don’t want to be.”
Perhaps that would have solved half of the problems of the world…