Selfportrait, 2009

The other day, I was trying to explain to my daughter what an “outsider” is.  She knows how it feels not to belong, so I was trying to tell her about the outsider concept using myself as an example. Perhaps it was also for her not to feel as if she is the only one feeling like that, so she can know that we have each other and that I understand how she feels. I started thinking about all the people in my life whom I’ve lost contact with.  I was born to be solitary. When I refer to solitary, this doesn’t include my family, they are one with me, they are my blood, they count as solid parts of me. Friends, in-laws, partners, important acquaintances: I’ve come so close to, just to sever the ties brutally in instants of irrationality. I reach moments where I wish to be alone. Completely alone without the tiresome job of maintaining relationships.  I recoil and hibernate for a while and then move on to tomorrow as my only concern, forgetting the jewels and gems and love which I deliberately buried. What is this thing, this destruction I feed on? I don’t ever have an urge to destroy shallow relationships, or relationships based on small talk, entertainment, everyday chit chats. Yet, the deepest ones, the people who I do at times consider my blood, the ones who know me, them I end up losing. I only need to show my teeth once, and they run, oh boy, do they run when the beast appears.  I suppose it gets what other people call “lonely” once they drop like flies.  No man is an island, they say.  Sacred is a small world, I say.

armanda, 2010

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