Sunday, 29 October 2017


Onism  n. "The frustration of being stuck in just one body, that inhabits only one place at a time, which is like standing in front of the departures screen at an airport, flickering over with strange place names like other people’s passwords, each representing one more thing you’ll never get to see before you die—and all because, as the arrow on the map helpfully points out you are here"  (In short, being aware of how little of the world you get to experience)

Imagine, a word, made up of only five letters, is the reason my chest feels like it's being pulled down by a 12-floor building.
A word, made up of only five letters, is the reason my eyes can't find it in them to give in to sleep.
And speaking of sleep, did you know that the average person will sleep 229,961 hours in their lifetime or basically one third of their life? Did you also know that this simple fact managed to keep me up at night for the entirety of  the past week?
Because if I sleep one third of my life, when do I get to live my life?
I read 10 books in parallel, not because I am indecisive, but because I want more than this world allows me.
I always experience things half and half, because I am here, but I am thinking of everything that could have been if I weren't.
I've always hated my limitedness. I want to burn each and every map that says I am here to the ground.
I've always hated having just one, really short lifetime.
The possibilities of everything I could ever be narrowed down to one life time.
The idea of all the lives I will not live, all the universes I will not get to see, all the conversations I will never get to have, all the music I won't get to hear.
In the end, I am only one human among 7 billion humans, on a planet that has 195 countries. One human, on a planet that has a billion worlds within.
Do I dare mention the idea of the existence of other planets, other universes? I think not.
It makes my bones ache and my mind strain.
I am terrified of the idea of not living, the idea that I can only be one thing, or a limited number of things.
I am being burdened with the weight of something that's not there. All the forsaken possibilities.
It's both agonizingly beautiful and beautifully agonizing to be human.
The agony of not knowing, the agony of having no control over anything, of having no control over being here to begin with. The beauty, the beauty of loving and being loved and getting hurt and all the in betweens.
It's all too much and it's still not enough.

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