People always say that we live in a 'big world.'
I tend to disagree.
Maybe it is the community that we always find ourselves settling into,
surrounding each other with familiar faces and 'worn out places.'
Applying a degree of regularity and comfort,
a safe ship to return to
To immerse in
To confide in.
I like my own company.
I like being alone.
I like being with my mind and the fresh crisp air bathing my skin in some secluded speck of greenery that I have randomly pointed to on the map.
Or maybe, sometimes, I camouflage myself amongst the commuters of that town, maybe, I will sit and watch, observing their dress senses and their faux-casual demeanor besides the 'so-called' fit human sporting a six pack and a shock of milky hair.
I don't judge, I wonder what their lives are like today.
The farangs who think that Bangkok is just like any city,
A doppelganger to London with looming giants who have a thousand eyes and crawling ants everywhere releasing odors of petroleum and cheap fried takeaway.
By ants, I mean the cars, and the people.
Cheap. Cheap. Cheap.
How wrong these people are; how pretentious one may think I sound.
This is where my small world closes in.
I gasp to burst the malleable sides of this container of air.
Intangible but still constricting, a psychological barrier, enforced by the sensitive parts of my protected brain.
A bell jar.
I step back into the thesis that is my life, bringing a kind of catharsis and composition back to it.
On my own. How I like it.
A small world in a big world.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
People always say that we live in a 'big world.'
I tend to disagree.
Maybe it is the community that we always find ourselves settling into,
surrounding each other with familiar faces and 'worn out places.'
Applying a degree of regularity and comfort,
a safe ship to return to
To immerse in
To confide in.
I like my own company.
I like being alone.
I like being with my mind and the fresh crisp air bathing my skin in some secluded speck of greenery that I have randomly pointed to on the map.
Or maybe, sometimes, I camouflage myself amongst the commuters of that town, maybe, I will sit and watch, observing their dress senses and their faux-casual demeanor besides the 'so-called' fit human sporting a six pack and a shock of milky hair.
I don't judge, I wonder what their lives are like today.
The farangs who think that Bangkok is just like any city,
A doppelganger to London with looming giants who have a thousand eyes and crawling ants everywhere releasing odors of petroleum and cheap fried takeaway.
By ants, I mean the cars, and the people.
Cheap. Cheap. Cheap.
How wrong these people are; how pretentious one may think I sound.
This is where my small world closes in.
I gasp to burst the malleable sides of this container of air.
Intangible but still constricting, a psychological barrier, enforced by the sensitive parts of my protected brain.
A bell jar.
I step back into the thesis that is my life, bringing a kind of catharsis and composition back to it.
On my own. How I like it.
A small world in a big world.