Metaphors

It’s hard to judge what is happening around me, much less even determine the cause or direction of said events. Drunken nights sweep by in a blur of motion outside the windows of this car called time, and I am the backseat passenger, too high to know what’s going on, too drunk to tell if this is real. And time is just as inebriated – the DDD (designated drunk driver), sweeping across curves, switching multiple lanes, through this dark neighborhood illuminated by the faint twinkling of stars.

I encounter more faces, or rather different variations of the same faces. Who they are behind the masks they wear, I never really know for sure. Had I met them in before, in a past life, had this been our first encounter? The situations in the world in which these could possibly exist are always overlapping, like circles in venn diagrams. And as they occur, the world fills my head with new jargon to describe their temporal state of passing, like an action in mid-action; its completion will never be known to us.

But I notice certain things that pique my interest – left-handed linguists, sharp-dressed hipster girls, hair in unfavorable places, the surprisingly ignorant, the disappointingly ugly, the realization that some chance encounters do not entail any significant meaning – and I make a crystallizing discovery about myself. I am unexpectedly fine with it all, despite it being so overwhelming at times. And I feel less like I’m being dragged into things, and more like a gentle, though chaotic, stream is carrying me towards the shores of uncertainty.