Last night, I drove back home, my first lonely drive back home for the year. The moon was bigger than usual. It was a super moon of sorts. I wondered how it must’ve looked like when it was a full moon last Friday. I read somewhere of a lunar eclipse but I wasn’t here to actually see if there was anything that happened. I stopped a few times on the way home to and to try and capture all of what the moon seemed to me. Either my fancy phone wasn’t as fancy as I thought it was, or I didn’t know how to take a picture when there was excessive light exposure/pollution.
It usually takes me about thirty minutes to drive home at about an average of sixty kilometres per hour when there is no traffic. But last night I took more than thirty minutes. I think I took about fifty in total. I stopped twice and tried to take pictures of the moon without much luck. I was also driving slowly. I felt elevated even, as though I was driving above the ground. And my limbs were automatically operating the car as though it knew it was time to switch on autopilot. I think I was floating through it all.
While floating, I also remembered Emma Watson’s interview of being ‘self-partnered‘ but at that moment all I felt was a deep, drowning sense of loneliness. And grief. Even as I write the words I did, there is a pang of guilt that pierces right through my left shoulder blade (that’s where I hold on to stress, pain and all other feelings I don’t let myself feel).
There is no sunshine and rainbows here but I guess, sometimes putting words to paper (and then to a blog post) is one way of coming to terms with what you are most uncomfortable. Here’s to us, the over-thinkers capable of putting on their game face at a moment’s notice. Here’s to our first world pains, its privileges and feeling feelings whose existence find we find difficult to address and acknowledge.