Monday, September 26, 2011

Bambi in New York

Last autumn someone collected piles of red leaves next to some fences near the railway. That person decorated the fence with them, writing lines from songs all over the city. After the fall came three other seasons. Over spring, summer and winter the leaves slowly started to fall off but never entirely. The city didn't remove them either so now, a year later, small tufts of last autumn's leaves are still wrapped around city fences.

Like a child, I turned to my mother last spring and asked how long did she think the leaves were going to last. "Until the next fall" she said. "Then someone will replace them with new ones." Somehow I find that thought extremely comforting.

Sometimes I wish I was born as an autumn leaf, a tree, a flower or a bird rather than human. Maybe I had turned out better. Evidently I was born human - as a person, a girl, me, and I have never been good at living my life as one. I don't know how to live this life I've been given. It's lonely to live your life as a stranger to everything around you and I don't really feel like I can relate to anyone or anything in this world. The fact is I feel like Bambi. All lost in the woods and absolutely no idea where anyone is.

(Some might think it's alarming that I can relate to nothing as well as a imaginary deer. I just think it's kind of sad.)

Sometimes I think about starting over; moving abroad and abandoning everything. I picture myself wandering in the city of New York, sleeping under a bridge and trying desperately to rise above my fears making something out of myself and my life. I picture myself in Europe, in some strange country with a new language that I can't understand. Trying my best to find a way to communicate with people. Sometimes I picture myself in a crack house laying in a pond of my own blood and filth completely unaware of the world around me. In all of these scenarios I'm less lonely than what I am right now.

I exhale by creating new; writing, painting, anything really. The truth is all of that is just a bandage for my life that's in ruins. I rather paint the canvas in red than my arms but just for the sake of being left alone. I guess what you ask is what you get. I'm all alone again but I'm sure I'll figure it out, I always do.

The thought of it doesn't make me feel any less lonely though. I'll just keep wandering around the woods like Bambi. That's what I do best.