Quarantined Long Before The Quarantine
It can’t be the quarantine effect!
And even if it was, this shit was inside.
It has to get out!
Or maybe not!
Who knows?
Anyways you’re here!
You don’t need to know me to read this.
It’s been almost a year since I wrote.
It feels like a long time ago.
I wonder what happened to my brain cells that love writing.
What happened to the writer in me?
See the problem isn’t only with the writer, I mean where’s the god damn yogi? Where’s the traveler?
The dreamer?
Where have they gone?
The crazy ones?
The 13?
This is definitely not the quarantine effect.
So let’s suck it up and don’t blame it on the status quo.
This is not a rant.
This is not poetic.
Black is poetic.
This — is — not.
I want to write again, write and write, and pour my ink on papers.
Ink on papers
Hear that?
In-kon-pa-pers
That phrase has an echo in your head…
Ink on papers…In-kon-pa-pers…
ɪŋk ˈɔn pei·prz
You don’t need to read.
It’s me, I just want to write.
You don’t need to read.
I want to code again... I’m a developer.
I want to fight again…I’m a fighter.
I want to travel again…I’m a traveler.
I want to teach yoga again… and see the post-class effect on people...
Namaste !
Naaa-maaa-steee !
That one got echo too!
I want to be back again!
I need to!
To the road again!
To the crazy dream!
The dream that people love to hear about but think it’s too crazy to live...
Be back regardless of circumstances, regardless of how old, how stuck how tired or depressed ..I am.
Plug me back IN, then turn the lights off and leave me alone inside my world, my matrix, my cocoon, my illusion.
I’ve been outside for too long.
I’ve been listening to all of you for too long.
I’ve tried Linkedin.
I’ve tried to fit in.
I’ve tried to get a job.
I’ve tried networking and making CVs.
I’ve tried getting paid and worrying about careers.
I’ve tried to do the things you do.
I’ve tried faking smiles and meeting people.
I’ve tried clubbing and getting high.
I’ve tried smoking cigarettes until my throat is dry.
That’s not a lie.
We’re on the cycle of “tomorrow let’s try”.
It’s not the quarantine.
In the end, it fucked my soul.
Corrupted my world.
Now we meet in a hole.
We barely see the spark of a fire.
We try to pretend we’re still strong.
We’re still dreamers.
Try to pretend..
That one is heavy on the head.
That’s a lot of effort!
Wasting tries on pretends.
Let’s either try or pretend.
What is left of us?
Crippled dreams?
Polluted thoughts?
Worried about putting yourself in a box?
Years ago, didn’t you scream:
“outside the box there was a another box ?”
And the green train filled with canned tomatoes, didn’t you rant about the stream?
Saying what if all this was just a dream?
You punched them, guy after guy.
Every time counting your tries.
“I won’t be a tomato in a tomato factory” you said
Look at us in da box
Draining in sloth and pathetic hopes.
Making yourself feel strong cycle after cycle
Getting drowned in the illusion of breaking free
I am by no means telling you to give up!
Nor I’m being pessimistic!
If I made you feel like that, it’s you and your brainy thoughts!
Don’t blame it on me nor on the quarantine!
Does it feel like melancholy? It smells like it, it feels like it, I say it’s not it.
See, I pride myself to be a great piece of —
Hold on a second, a point of honesty needs to be made here:
I wanted to write “a piece of an optimist” but in my head I said “a piece of shit”.
Now for the sake of this well wrapped context, let’s be optimistic and continue.
See, I pride myself to be a great piece of an optimist, my words may sound gloomy and melancholic and it’s not the quarantine, I’m always like this since my womb days.
Womb days, it’s like quarantine days but in a womb.
But I believe that the optimism mountain has a top.
That top is found in the bottom of the pit of pessimism.
If you need a picture to understand, I’ll draw you one.
Also if you’re wondering why my words aren’t poetic anymore, scroll up and read again.
Now let’s take a breath in.
Hold it slightly at the top.
Release it slowly.
Slight pause at the bottom.
Let the breath return to normal.
Stay safe and by “safe” I don’t mean Corona safe, I mean mentally safe.
You can beat Corona with your head.
You can beat anything actually, you just don’t know that yet, and let’s leave that fight for another time.
PS: Drowning in that pit can be of the best thing to ever happen to you.
Now Stay Safe.
