plugged in.

09Nov09

My white and pink trainers hit the pavement, and suddenly my senses were heightened – the incessant chattering from the housewives gets louder; the pungent smoke from the roads gets thicker. And with every step I took my skin swelter, taunting my lack of fitness.

Perhaps coupled with my initial frustration which led me to take a run – this is all too much to take.

In moments like this, music is my default ally.

If music were a person he would be a very difficult person to read – elusive, slightly manipulative and very persuasive. Every word he said resonates and every note he sang strikes me at my very core. His rhythm loiters within my subconscious, nudging my every step. I cannot decide who has the power in this relationship – is he relevant because I perceive him to be? Is he controlling my pace or am I using him as a pacer?

He jolts me into world of my own, in which I can mould everything in the way that I want it. Nevertheless under his manipulative words, of course.

I tend to say this more often than I wish I have not – “It’s nice to be in a bubble.” Escapism tempts me relentlessly, but I know sometimes you need to feel pain to feel alive.

That’s why I plug myself out.

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