Adventures in solitude

Being one already, (or inherently), prone to internal combustion, I'm finding all of this mental free time very challenging.

a person entirely in touch with my emotions and thoughts- my interactions with the world around me- I am accustomed to having to defer from my self sometimes - in order to preserve sanity.

The gym, the church, the errands, the restaurants, the instruments, the boys, the books, the car.

But here,

I'm always with myself. And with myself in a different way.

I cannot very well impart to you the solitude that comes from being the sole speaker of one's native tongue.

I am forming friendships. Unique, and having separated ourselves from the baseness of common linguistic communication- it's funny-

It's all much the same.

And if you think about it, when you speak to someone in the same tongue, in our case, English,

It's a bag of tricks all the same.

What they know, what they've studied, social normalcies and societal pressures- different backgrounds and parents- different homes- varying interpretations and mixed signals. Liars and economic divisions- the jealous and the oblivious. The old and the young.

And we think, that speaking the same language means that we understand each other?

Language is not understanding.

It's a means of communication, and a means of communication is not necessarily received, only sent.

Love, however, is a universal language.

It is felt, rather than interpreted.

So while I am very much alone in my mind, I am all too well together, in my heart.

I wish you could see the conversations we patch together here.

Pointing and manic hand gestures, French and Spanish. Smiles and erupting giggles, shaking of heads and winks, sighs and pats on the back, English and song lyrics, soccer players and beer brands.


Jesus and creole.