"Have you ever been fascinated by something you do not understand?"
Yes.
The things I do not understand will occupy the free space
in my brain, spending hours whirling around, trying to
come up with a solution to why something is the way it is.
We're not supposed to know the ins and outs of
everything that fascinates us. Mystery is what
forces us to think outside the box of our own realities.
We may not know the unknown but it's called the
unknown for a reason. Stories are told to justify
beliefs, stories told so long ago that they are a
mystery. We know what history tells us, those
stories could have been people centuries ago trying
to justify what they believe too. I spend hours thinking
about what makes a story and what could happen after
a story is finished by the writer. Where do characters
live once they no longer preoccupy a writers mind?
I suspect they live in alternate universes where anyone
could go and see how they're doing. There are big and
little questions to be asked of this life. Why the hell
are we all here? What's the point? Is there a point?
What makes the universe go round? I think we're
not supposed to know for a reason. I think the point
of not being certain about anything is that there are
somethings in life you won't know until you're there.
I dream of walking the streets of New York and
what it might feel like to walk between skyscrapers
and different people from different walks of life.
I haven't been to New York since I was ten but
I remember liking the city, more than my sister
who complained about how many blocks we
had to walk to get where we needed to go.
Not me, I was fascinated by everyone and
everything surrounding us, living lives I
was too young to comprehend. I'm going
going back to New York this fall. Fourteen
years later. Anyone who knows me knows
how much I've been wanting to go to New York
for a couple of years now. I'm fascinated by the
city because I read a book that brought back
the fascination I had when I was ten. I didn't
understand why I was so enamored with
being in a city full of buildings and people
who were much taller than I was/am. I know
I didn't have the words to sum up how
that experience made me feel. And when I did,
I was too far away from the experience to
accurately express how I was feeling. Though
when I think about New York today, a little
piece of what I felt from fourteen years ago
lights up my soul. It's magic, in a strange
and beautiful way. I remember pulling into
Grand Central Terminal and asking my aunt
why there was only darkness beyond the
train. There was a certain smell in the
air I can still vaguely smell but there
are no words to describe it. Anticipation,
for what's to come, stepping into the unknown.
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