Isolation is not singular.
It is not about one.
It is about what’s there.
It is about what’s left.
When you’re reaching out
The parts of you that begin to yearn
For recognition curl outwards
Wing-like arms, searching
For something tangible to hold
So you can be named.
Yet, since you have never done this before
Never got to know the world
In turn, the world does not know you either.
That is why, my friend
When you expand, the world shrinks
Away from your touch
Recoils from your expectant gaze
You don’t know if you are the one
Who’s difficult to understand, or
In those years of self-confinement
Ignorance and stubbornness
The world has drifted away
From your small, insignificant kingdom
That little piece of your sky seems
Hopelessly drab and redundant
And the clouds hang down
With a solemn face
Are you alone in your world?
Or are you alone in theirs?
Are you simply situated
In the wrong place and time, or
Are you misplaced amidst everything right?
Have you isolated yourself
Isolated your mind, and thus your body
Or are they the ones
Who isolated you?
(wrote this while riding the skytrain)