Escape to Nowhere
I love writing here.
I can write and talk about anything I want. I can be whoever I want to be, whoever I can and can't be. I can play games, confuse and twist your thoughts. I have the power to put assumptions and unnecessary speculations in your head. I will allow you to judge me, my words, but of course, I will have the last laugh. Because all that you can possibly achieve with such a meek self-righteous crusade is to judge a mirror, your very own reflection.
I have the freedom to write complete utter nonsense, speak of lies and half-truths. Sometimes I write about my own real, actual, true experiences, thoughts and frustrations. But, of course, that's not always the case. There would always be a lie, or two, or more, behind every story. There would always be an abstract, hidden meaning behind even the simplest sentence. There would always be some doublespeaks, dichotomies, oxymorons.
We are all liars. And in here, I intend to be nobody but myself and everyone at the same time. What's the use of pretending we're all perfect angels without flaws and fears? That we don't have skeletons in the closet. That are always happy. Why are we so afraid of telling the truth? Of what we think, of what we feel, of our fears and frustrations. Why are we so afraid to open up and seem vulnerable? Why are we so afraid of being judged? Why does what other people think or say matter so much?
But then again, I do contradict myself. Even now.
In here, it's like I'm having conversations with a stranger, a friend, an enemy, a lover, a cat, and with anyone and everyone and no one at the same time. I can talk about myself and not have to worry that I'd make my friends nauseated with my self-indulging stories. This is a place I can come to and hide when the world outside starts to scare me.
In here, I'm free.
