Bluebird

You’re naked.

Alone and naked.

Under the shower you hear the sounds of the busy traffic. You masturbate to a poster that you have of some guy who appeared in indie movies. You let that small part inside you grow, blossom into something else.

You’re not yourself. Alone and tired, you’re slumped on the couch watching reality TV. You laugh at things you don’t understand. You care for people who are so unlike you. You become the unbecoming.

You remember that in the same exact day, one year ago, you were once crowned a god of small things. A god of big things. You were cocooned within a protective sheath of friends and acquaintances. You’re on the first few steps of being lonely.

You sleep at night feeling strapped to your bed. Even as you try to shift and kick, you’re tied up. Deep inside your own dreams, you hear the whispers. They’re like bubbles of enlightenment. They keep rising to the surface within you. You feel the ache of not allowing them out. They burn and scratch at your ribs, at your temple and at your fingertips. You open your eyes and there it is: the bluebird.

It’s strange you haven’t realized up until that moment how this bluebird is you. It has been you from the first moment. You might be awkward and scary on the outside. You drive people away. They just have to come closer, too close for your own comfort. Only for them to run away as if the Hell hounds are behind them. You’re the Hell hound. But you’re also the bluebird. You’re the unbecoming. You materialize into this beautiful being that only the few who have touched your soul can see.

The bluebird always knows the truth. It watches from above, taking notes on what everybody is doing. You try not to watch the crowds from your past. You try not to sneak behind their chatter and their gatherings. But you can’t help the loneliness that is nagging at your heart. You’re also jealous for being alone when there’s so many of them. They say loneliness is the human condition, and you really hate being in an overcrowded room. But still it hurts to feel rejected. That’s why when you are a bluebird, you never feel avoided or ignored. You’re everywhere. You land on whichever branch you may please. You sneak into the tombs of ancient Egyptian carcasses. You stand stop the Pyramids. You surf with the Mediterranean waves. You breathe in the scent of the 40-years-old buildings and houses. You sleep on the roofs of decaying statues. You are the city grouped into a single being: you.

Lonely and free.

You reach that state of mind and soul after a while. As you flutter your wings and feel your soul liberating from all the myths, preaching, memories and beliefs, you truly lose that sense of hatred toward yourself.

You were afraid of loneliness. You were afraid of admitting who you really are. You were afraid of being that small girl that everybody points at. You were afraid of them putting that scarlet letter on you. Fear is the mind killer, The Bene Gesserit once said. Fear is a pimp, your own poet Naguib Soroor once said. Fear once told you not to be a bluebird, but now you are. Fear once told you not to be lonely. But now you are.

Fear is afraid of you.