out of place.

i have always felt like an outsider. the world seems to be just a few more steps in front of me and i am the one surreptitiously attached to some sort of "struggle bus" designed to catapult me into the realization that i might never be "in the right place". this is probably why i am somewhat of a nomad as of late; i find solace in the emptiness and continuity of the silence.

my own awkwardness was pointed out by a fellow coworker today. "you listen to cello concertos, you use big words and think too much about things that don't really matter." all of these things are true. my father imbedded in me a love of all things instrumental, especially when it comes to stringed instruments. (see also, yo-yo ma) as is he responsible for cultivating an expanse vernacular, a passion for language and the pursuit of knowledge. so really? blame my dad for me being such an odd kid. but i have become suspect that i might have found these oddities all on my own.

i am becoming further aware of my love of all things hauntingly beautiful; this is why i am drawn to the parisian lifestyle and classical music. most of it is positively depressing in the most emotionally-wrought way. take a look at my bookshelf and you'll see some of the most depressing reads. the stories of heartbreak have always beckoned to me. books allow me to delve into levels of my subconcious that otherwise i would have not been able to tap into. i am a lover of languages; the simple beauty of communication is not lost on me.

but like i said, i often find myself feeling somewhat alone. ironic, isn't it? a love of languages and communications so developed that it forces one into isolation, a state where at which communication is essentially meaningless. alright, maybe not ironic, but humorous nonetheless. although i am beginning to learn that maybe communication with the self is of the utmost importance.

further still, i think maybe i embrace the loneliness; a part of me feels more alive and in the "right place" in the feelings of desperation, in the pining and in the darkness. i find this to be one of the most honest and truthful facts about myself, probably because destruction came into me at such an early age and i have yet to give it up. i am bound to the feeling of sadness in an irrevocable way. there is a hole in my heart, a gap which remains to be filled up - and in a completely naked moment, i find myself never wanting that hole to be filled. sometimes a man is stranded on an island.

and rarer still, sometimes the man remains on the island of his own free will.