I’m twenty-three. I pace incessantly down the small corridors of my dwelling, as if I’m a horse confined in a tiny paddock longing for greener pastures. As if I was a bird, grounded and caged.
I long for greener pastures. I long for the skies.
I daydream of the day that I’ll take flight. When I’ll leave this place of stagnancy. One day, when I when I can take my pony and we’ll ride far away (okay, so maybe not so far away…) in search of paradise. One day, when I’ll be doing something useful, that others will care about. One day, when I will be with more like-minded people instead of endlessly clashing over things that no one else understands. One day, when I’ll be free to live my life amongst the beliefs I choose. Oh and of course the horsy 😉 … even though it’s be years since I’ve jumped since I’m too afraid to fail among other issues (although that’s okay, as I don’t think jumping fits my personality that well so it probably won’t be my main focus regardless). But symbolically, I’ve been grounded, pecking at the round.
It all seems so far away now, so endlessly far away. Impossible to reach.
I feel myself bouncing against the walls of the confined spaces, as the walls close in. Uncertainty reigns and Chaos creeps. Doubt hangs in the unmoving air.
I want to fly. But yet I do not. I’m not sure if these wings can send me airborne and keep me there. I am a fledgling, having not figured out the mysteries of flight and hopping along the ground, still being close by to be fed.
Oh I’m a different bird, no doubt from the rest around here (and I’m certainly not Big Bird).
But I’m tired with the confinement, the lack of understanding that surrounds, the humdrum of the days that roll by, unyielding to my pleas to slow.
Some days, I’m not sure if I’ll ever fly, if I’ll ever leave the ground, make it over these walls. I’m not sure if I’ll get lost up there or if a storm will pick me up, carry me away where I’ll crash-land somewhere, far from home, alone.
But is this home? I am uncomfortable, as if I’m a strange resident creature of the neighbourhood. I don’t like the children – their insistence to interact with me when I am so far in my own world. The stares. And the – although I haven’t had it in a while the “are you okay?” comments. That always drives me nuts.
I’m not okay, my wings flapping against these walls. The walls, unmoving.
Unsure of what is to become of me – who I’ll become, what I’ll be, where would I be? Is this enough? Am I enough? To get to where I want to be? Wherever that is now…
I don’t know. I keep an eye on the darkening sky above, wondering about its omens. My mind sneaks into worst-case scenarios when I’m not looking, while Fear and Doubt run amok.
And I wonder, when will it be the day to fly away…