I will try as much as possible to describe its indescribable nature.
The way it comforts one while beating them up. I heard rats do that. They bite you and then blow some air there so as to sooth you lest you feel pain and swat them away. But anyway, there are no rats here.
Just silence and myself.
And on that day, I will tell of the isolation here. You see, there are days when silence is medicine. Like when silence is actually appreciated and bears fruits. When silence and calmness and peace are almost synonyms.
But not in this place. The silence here is so loud that I wish for noise. I who enjoys solitude so much have been driven mad by this silence. It taunts me. It holds dancing festivals in my mind during the day when I’m surrounded by human beings. It camps and lights a bonfire at night when I thought it would give me a break. It reminds me that when all is said and done, inside there I’m alone. And no one, not even God, is getting through that deafening silence.
And hopefully when I write about this place, I will capture like a good picture, how thoughts are futile here. You think and think. And think some more. But for once in my life, thinking doesn’t result to anything.
In this place thoughts are like meaningless words on a book. Your eyes glance over them but they don’t register in your head. They make no difference. They add nothing nor remove anything. In some other places that life has taken me, thinking led to worrying, in yet others, thinking led to solutions. But in this place, thinking is a futile process.
When I say one day I will write about this place, its because I hope by then i’ll not be here still. Writing involves a reader and a writer. Its a communal activity. This place reeks of isolation. It reminds me of a quarantine. I don’t know whether i was bad for the world or the world was bad for me, but all the same, I found myself in this isolated place alone.
One sees no end to this place. It has no beginning nor an end. It looks like a desert. Or an ocean. But when you are in the middle of it and have no idea which way is out.
And unlike other places, one just can’t get used to this place. Why? Nothing works to your advantage. I’ve been to places where even pain worked to my advantage. Here, everything is a potential enemy. It bites you when it feels like. But all elements here prefer silent treatment. Like they won’t hurt, but they won’t keep company either.
In this place, one feels as if they are in water, they are not drowning yet, but neither are they floating. One is just flailing their arms. It feels lethargic. Like every movement costs energy. But no progress is made. So sitting looks like a better alternative. Just to sit and get haunted by the silence here that one goes back to trying something. Anything. It doesn’t work. So one sits. That doesn’t work too. And the cycle continues.
And I hope that on that day when I write about this place, that writing shall exorcise all things associated with this place out of me. There are places I happily keep memories of. Others where I still keep those memories, but not necessarily happily, to remind me how far I’ve come in life. Some places get forgotten just to be opened once in a while when I take a walk down the memory lane.
But this place will get none of that. Or at least I hope to forget with every cell in me that I was ever a sojourner here. If it was possible I would burn it down when I get out. But remember it has no beginning and seemingly no end? So for once i’ll pray that my amnesia does what it does but at the right time and to the right things this time round.
But should you ever find yourself in this place, don’t worry I’m not going to give you advice. I mean, nothing works here anyway. But should life decide to give you a dose of this place, please write about it if you write. Sing about it if you sing. Document it for those who’ve never travelled to this sides to get a glimpse of what this place looks like.
But I sure do hope against hope, that one day will write about this place.