For about a week now, I've been experimenting with the state of solitude and loneliness. The subject of this experiment is none but myself. The core of this experiment is to lose my connection with the real world, well, almost. For about a week now, I didn't talk with anyone I know except on the internet and very minimal texting and almost no phone calls.
The hostel was empty from any trace of identifiable faces, only strangers. During this solitude sometimes I would ride to town. Avoiding those I know with best effort. I know I'm supposed to be home by now. But day after day, I kept on telling myself, "I'll be home tomorrow" and these words eventually meant nothing. I'm still here. Walking among strangers. Talking to unfamiliar faces. Without noticing it I was secretly fascinated with this idea. I'm anonymous because I'm in-between familiarity and alienation. A tourist is not anonymous because his or her differences gather too much attention. I'm familiar, yet I'm unknown, therefore I am anonymous.
Most strangers we see everyday are anonymous anyway.
What I'm doing now is not truly solitude, but a solitude in a world of anonymity. This experience somehow turned these familiar room, familiar place, familiar town into a strange world. Each passing day was almost dreamlike. Dreamlike, because each thought was spoken in mind. As I woke up alone from sleep, I'd walk to the toilet with no one to greet. Then I'd be back in my room. Staring at the walls. Planning a fun thing to do alone. Then I'd lay on the bed, alone. Staring at the ceiling, alone. Drinking tea while reading some blogs, alone.
In actuality most of the things above are preferably done alone yes? Unless you're married or gay.
Each night I'd ride to town for takeouts, usually fast-food most of the time, just like the pizza I mentioned. Then I'd ride to the flea market for chicken wings and a few boxes of cigarettes. In this solitude, there was no lunch, only dinner. Then I'd judge them foods while reading or watching something on the computer screen. It was pretty bland and dull. I'd add this dullness by keeping the silence in the air. No loud music blaring from the speaker and of course not a single voice heard from outside the room. Only voices of strangers and noises from clueless birds.
Through this almost a week of solitude, I think I'm able to grasp why people could turn to either geniuses or murderers by living alone for too long. Being alone gives you too much space for you to think and when you think sometimes your thoughts wander beyond borders. They could just be creativity and also, yes, insanity. I'm sure I'm capable of murder at the moment.
Today, I think it's time to get back to reality. I'm going home. Before I turn to a murderer.