Monday, 16 February 2015

The Nature of Freedom.

As the vines braided their way around my house, I slowly felt more and more disconnected to the world. With each twirl and bend, I sought the need to seek adjust to the prison that would soon become my life. Slowly yet effectively, my house began to sink into darkness until the last ray of sunlight shined on the table across the room; it came from an uncovered spot on the window. Fortunately, the vines didn't do as good a job at covering it than it hoped for.

The house was relatively dark, yet I could walk my way around if I wanted to. But I didn't want to. It was a ghastly sight and experience to feel trapped in your own habitat by the forces of nature. The idea that even if I screamed my lungs out and nobody would hear me was just unsettling. I waited for my eyes to adjust, then sat in the corner of the room... sobbing.
For the first few days, I wondered why the vines chose my house to hug- was it that horrible, that it needed to be covered? What did I do to deserve utter detachment from the mankind? I grabbed a chair and stood the spot on the window where the sword of light hit. With one eye on the window, the other closed, I saw the people I would see every day not bothered that my house was in complete isolation. Most of the people I knew to be very considerate, trusted with my life, were unfazed by what was happened, almost forgetting that I ever existed in the first place.

A couple weeks had passed, I guessed, and some of my relative began to worry. They knocked on the vines and waited for an answer that would never come. Many tried to tug and rip off the plant. However, it seemed like the more they tried to help me, the stronger their grip became. Eventually, they would stop and stand there for a few seconds, staring at what had happened to one of the happiest, calmest houses in the neighborhood; wondering, like I did, why?

Every day for a month, I would sit at the table where the light shined in the morning and contemplate the mistakes I had done to deserve this nature bound lock. At first I was bitter, angry and frustrated with the world. I doubted my purpose and existence, reexamining everything I had ever done and if my life even had a reason. I didn't know what was happening around the world or the latest celebrity gossip. I couldn't reply to my emails, stalk hot guys on the media, tell my friends about the exciting things that happened during the day, or see how they were doing or rather if they missed me.
One day, to make things a whole lot better, some of my closest friends stuck signs outside my house, where my vision could reach, blaming me for not contacting them or keeping in touch with them for a very long time, saying that if I really cared, I would have found a way to cut down the vines. I wanted to tell them that I tried, that the only way I could get rid of the vines was to burn down the house- and that would've been suicide.

Suddenly, the curse of vines had eventually become a blessing. I began to cherish my time on the table to contemplate, relax and avoid people-related drama. Gossip about people I have not seen in years did not matter as much to me. Friends that did not understand that they needed to wait for me until the vines died off, weren't friends I wanted to keep anymore. The table became a filter; a window. The table seating was also a place I mourned those I missed most outside the walls of my house and I prayed for them to find happiness and a life full of adventure. Although I wanted to have them with me on the table, eating breakfast like we would normally do, eventually I needed to wish them a better life- without me in it. I began writing about my experiences, hoping someone would relate- or not- people didn't really matter as much anymore. Ironically, people matter more. How does that work? People's opinions did not mean much, but the people I knew would be supportive are the ones that really meant the most.

Years after waiting in solitude, I lost hope. The vines did not fall and the roots seemed to dig deeper in. I was beginning to think I would never speak to another person again, until one day I did something rather odd.

I watered the plant.

The vines had already found their way through the windows, breaking the glass, so it made it easier for me to offer it some water. I'm not sure why I had watered it, or what I was thinking, but I'm glad I did. With the purest intentions, I pondered how tall and wide it would grow if I nurtured it. I thought to myself, if I was stuck here I might as well be doing something worthwhile. One day, I said to myself, someone will find the stories I had written sitting on my table, they will see the lovely paintings I drew and marvel at my patience; how I managed to stay all these years trapped.

I watered the curse and it became a blessing.

Once I got past my hatred towards it, it slowly withered as if offering me one last sight of it's colors all at once; sailing away with shades of lime green, bark brown and then eventually coal black. You would suppose that after all these years of being stuck between walls, I would've ran to the door. You are wrong. I did not move, as if the idea of being free upset me. My body quivered and my feet numbed. Being free did not upset me; it disgusted me. After all these years, I began to share a bond with this plant. Then the disturbing thought crept through my skull and widened my eyes... "Did my kindness kill the plant, or did my hatred foster it ?"

 Both maybe.

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