Desire Knows No Bounds
Sunday, March 18, 2018
Then, I was lost.
I am lost. I find myself wondering, struggling, losing hope, losing faith, losing choice, losing my religion, as that lovely old song used to say. But I know I still have the words. I have the words, I always had them, I lost them at some point during the journey, and I got lost, because the words were always my light. Because no matter where home is, the words are the journey, the story, the narration, is what gets you there.
Then, I was lost.
I found myself with nothing. Without hope, without faith, without choice, without my religion, without a job, without a home, without safety. It was called "the safety box". A room, 3x4 meters, in a psychiatric ward in a small lakeside town in the happiest country on earth, with plastic walls, a bed and a ball/chair. I found myself with nothing, and that was.. oddly liberating. That brought back perspective. That treated my out of the mania that had driven me to that point. Four days in that room and clarity began to come back, realistic feelings began to come back. But more of that later. The point was, in choicelessness, I found liberation and clarity. Or at least it started. In voicelessness, I began to hear the weak voice screaming insecurity and fear inside of me.
So they say, the best way out is always through. Tyrion Lannister once said, Don't run away from who you are, don't forget who you are, the rest of the world never will. Wear it like an armor and no one can hurt you. Like it or not, I am who I am, and my life has changed, irreversibly, in this blog, in those chat windows, in those long lonely nights and phone calls, in that fine dining room in that hotel in Dubai, in those dark grey cells in Evin, by the shores of the great Nile in Sudan, in that hellhole in Nairobi, in those air conditioned meeting rooms and endless parties in Khartoum, in that evening in Canada club, in all those hospitals in fucking Switzerland, on Hadiye's couch in Izmir, and I have changed with. I can't change things back, but I can change with them, through them. I can begin to get things back, to give things back, to put it all down and look at it and move past and through and beyond. I still have .. some of my faith, and some of my words, and some choice.
So here I stand. An aid worker in exile, without a place I can call home, been through seven hells and back, and I choose, because that I still can do. I choose to not hide. To give myself back the words. To accept how things went and who I am. To wear my wounds like an armor. to bring back the words, the story, the narrative, the consciousness that comes with, the direction that follows.
I choose to build my home in words. They're all I have left, and all I can spare for now, I never had much else. So I choose the words, and I thank my God I still have them, even if I may stutter for a while, bear with me. Here I begin my stories. May clarity come with, and all the good things follow. Amen.