This post started out as an "end to 2012 beginning of a new year" sort of post. But half way through it I realised I didn't have it in me to share so much. So I won't. But I still want to write something, because I've been writing so little lately. Maybe because I've been afraid of ending up with a similar post to the previous ones. Because that's how I still feel.
I'm still terribly restless. I still have the urge to flee the country, to go to a busy city and get lost in the crowd. I want to escape. Even though I keep telling myself time and again that running away does not solve problems but only moves them to a new spot. You cannot run away from the past.
You can go to a new city and create a new name and a new identity. But even if you convince everyone you're the real Amy Winehouse, and only pretended to be dead to get out of the public eye, well you would still know the lie. Every time you look in the mirror, every time you answer to a fake name, every morning when you wake up, you will know. And the memories of regret, and the memories of the people you loved, and the people you've hurt they're all going to be there. And you might be a winner in your new life but you'll know that you'll always be a loser in the first one because you didn't stick it out.
So what should I do? I might not be leaving the country but I keep escaping the real world. I escape into a land of make believe. And I escape into books. And I escape into movies. And I escape into other people's problems. As long as I'm away from mine.
And now more than ever I understand why Peter Pan ran away to Neverland. And I share his same confusion as to why Wendy would want to return back to the real world. And I envy Alice for being able to escape to Wonderland. And Ariel for having two worlds from which to chose. And more than that, I understand the writers for writing such stories, for they too needed to escape.
I'm reading The perks of being a wallflower, and I know that the phrase "And I swear at that moment we were infinite" is way over used. But I want that feeling, I want to feel infinite. Just for one second.
So I will end this post with another quote from the same book. Because why should I try to rephrase something that to me is already perfect?
“So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be.”