Between insipid work which irritates the soul and an enterprising corollary that my dream promises me; between the terrifying loneliness an alien community inflicts in you and the exciting prospect of a better bank balance; between being looked down upon by mongoloid eyes and being praised and cuddled by invisible voices from afar; between the eternally growing longing for being back home and an anticipation of breaking all such strings that tie me down, I miss being free. I miss being able to live like I used to live. I miss a lot. I miss being myself.
Somewhere I read; enjoy the ‘blank spaces’, and yet somewhere else it written, there is a rhythm to all the specifics of life. We are aware that a musical note would not be musical if it did not have a blank space. The difference in the crescendo and fall of the notes, the shift from one tune to another, all involves a break in the sound we hear. Should this blank space be respected? or shoud it not be?
So what am I experiencing? The 'rhythm' or the ‘blank space’? If either, then why do I miss being free? Why do I really miss an explanation of any sorts, and so continue miss, being myself?
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