Light. It’s an idea I’ve yet to wrap my head around, a word I’m still to learn to spell right, a reality that I still don’t entirely fathom. And I’m a woman of imagination and words.
I used to write a blog titled Behind Cobwebs which many readers told me was my best work. Gruesome feelings and dark poetry all written in the ink of despair and pain made it there. After awhile, I didn’t want to live in the dark anymore. Because we live in our words, our narrative of ourselves and the world around us.
Does city living make us more prone to negativity, more likely to wallow in despair, to enjoy pain, to revel in the toxic? I want to think not. After all, I’m a child of cities. And even my fractured, shabby city has gorgeous sunsets and flights of flamingos. The people of this city make the biggest film industry in the world. Are they selling just escape and not dreams?
Is internet culture inherently toxic? Why are trolls so powerful when we all learnt that this word equals monster? When did we start carrying guns into a friendly conversation? I know we all just want to be heard and seen. I know it in my bones, deep where neither the city I live in nor the bandwidth I’m on matter. So, why are we in mayhem?
Maybe the newness of things always feels dark. I wonder what the experience of being born must be like – passing from comforting darkness into something entirely new. Light.
Maybe we’re constantly being born.