People are very important to me - they always have been. I remember being as little as 7 and straying away from a clothes rack as my mother shopped to end up at the store window, mesmerised by the masses as they rushed around, each in their own separate world.
People and their stories always fascinated me. What is he/she thinking? What happened to them this morning? Is he/she happy? I was always enthralled by the inner workings of the human spirit - how and why we loved so easily, despite having encountered profound pain/injustice. What draws us so desperately to one another; what is this deep, instinctive need for companionship?
All my questions and wonderment with the human form led me to love people; ironically with the exact same ease my logic once so brutally questioned.
The truth is, people are complicated. I know this as I am complicated. If I sit and think of all the jagged hemispheres that are inherent in my singular core, it shocks me. Thus it should come as no surprise, then, that other people are the same.
We are complicated in our relationships. You love, often without reason or logic. But you pollute that love with complications; manipulating truth and honesty, replacing them with tact and diplomacy.
I sit now and I think, ‘which is better to observe?’ Should I adhere to the one, core rule of honesty that I was taught was a fundamental principal or should I mould honesty into tact and diplomacy, with the intention to lessen ‘complications’? But is that really what being diplomatic achieves?
Love itself is anything but tactful and/or diplomatic. Irrational, impulsive and illogical – there is little complication left to add to love, it seems.
But at what point (if any), is it feasible to let an emotion overcome you to the point that it becomes you (or rather, you become it)? Is that not what feeling is – is that not what the beauty of emotion is; the inescapable power it has to wind itself tightly around your core until you suffocate from its immense grip and are forced to recognise what lies before you?
To bite down so hard onto an emotion that you crack the prickly surface, penetrate through the agonizingly rigid core and in that state of passion, draw blood from the force you conjured from deep within you – is that not life?
Is feeling not living? I wonder...
