The Pink Elephant

Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear, I’ve spent my whole life on a journey.

Stomach-turning as it may be, its destination is uncertain- and I’ve only just come to terms with that.

I don’t know what took me so long… Except that I do know… I am obsessed with knowing, and that is the problem.

How could knowledge be such a burden? You know what they say: Too little… Too much, and how much is enough? How good is good enough?

Parameters.

At this precise moment in time I am sat on a train, the only place where I actually feel I can write guilt-free and safely, and only because I think here I can contain all of my crazy in the wagon I am riding, and I could leave it behind should I need to jump off at a precipitated platform. I love to worry, and I can hear my writing voice speaking up. This isn’t the first time we have an awkward conversation.

So let’s have it, let’s talk about the big pink elephant sat adjacent to me…
Well, she is not exactly an elephant, she is a concerned woman in her late sixties, looking at me over her book and her reading glasses, probably wondering why I keep staring at her… But she will have to metaphorically do for now.

Back to my inconvenient conversation, the one I keep having with myself. The one that calms me down, the one that makes me laugh, the one that makes me cry, the one for which I get out of bed in the morning, the one that makes me make time sometimes, the one that keeps me sane, the one that makes my mad world undeniable… The only conversation that as far as I am concerned matters, and I can only have with the voice inside my head.

Too bad I am at disagreement with myself. Luckily for me I’ve learned to become more accepting. And my inquisitive desire to know why, and everything, has become patient over time.

I stopped writing because I was scared, because I became too concerned with leaving a trace of me on the page to realise I wanted to author the world around me, all of it. I stopped writing because for some ungodly reason I was convinced I saw the world through different eyes- my pair of eyes, the same eyes that insist in finding a reason to keep going, to get better, to believe… And now I suppose that I do see the world through these eyes, and I want to write to keep track of this, and every other thought I’ve ever had, so that my heart can never be permanently broken because I will always want to find a reason to keep going, to get better, to believe…

Yes, today that is why I write.

By this time tomorrow I will be on an airplane, and I might give you another reason then, just as I fight yet another demon in the shape of yet another elephant, maybe… But for now, I just hope that if I do, she won’t be quite as judgmental as the stranger sat adjacently to me seems to be.

 

-Oriana Ascanio

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