Palaces are usually decorated in a similar manner – with silk drapes, quaint artifacts, shimmery chandeliers etc. and yet, each has a distinctive charm of its own. Mine does too. I don’t talk about it because I’m not a fan of bragging, but yeah, I have a palace and it’s bloody amazing. It has curtains made of books filled with carefully and lovingly stitched words and lyrics; some as rough as jute and some as soft as satin. They let the right amount of light stream in when it gets too dark.
Right by the French windows are my tea-tables and chairs; just that they’re never really used. That’s too formal. My friends and I prefer the comfy sofas and carpets; we laze around and talk about life, love, hope and magic. Jokes are common too (some of my pals are pretty dirty-minded). We never stop talking, even when we don’t say anything to each other. Silence, with them, is comfortable. That is something I’ve never been able to find with other people. Just like how I’ve never really “found” myself outside. It’s a different story with my mansion mates. When we’re running down the stairs, giggling about my crush liking me back, or sitting in the hallway talking about the meaning of life … I feel alive. I feel like I’m me.
There’s this room in my palace, which is very special and unique (but common). It’s this hollow space where you enter, and travel to any kind of place or situation that you’re keen to go to. Sometimes, I revisit incidents which I wish I could change; I tend to venture into futuristic ones as well, to see how they play out. Like I said, it’s special. When I want some privacy, away from the others’ voices (or silence), I go into MySpace (this one is owned by me, not by Justin Timberlake).
It’s where I sit on the floor and look into my own self – It’s called ‘Introspection’, and you should try it. It’s like a journey during which you discover yourself. It could be about finding your faults too, that doesn’t have to give you a bad trip.
At night, I step into my beautiful garden and lie down; stargazing is something that I’ve been doing since I was a child. I imagine those shiny things talking to each other; discussing my life and where I’m headed. Maybe this is why I’m so fascinated by Astrology because, well, stars. So, I stare at the jewelled-up sky, drowning in my own thoughts and dreams, and just when I’m not able to breathe anymore, my friends come and pull me out of it. They come to know when I’m getting too serious; they punch me with nice and light stuff. They get me.
It’s a safe haven for me. It’s my home. It’s where I see things the way I want to see them, without the blinders attached by the society or anything else. My windows show me a view that I want to see. My amigos are with me through everything. The best part is that they listen. When I’m talking, they’re all ears. When he/she’s talking, we all hear him/her out. This world would be a better place if everyone just listened, but then again, no place can be better than this sanctuary of mine.
It gives me the camaraderie, shelter, happiness, satisfaction and – Solitude. Solitude is often mistaken as loneliness, but no, it’s anything but that. When I crave to be alone, it’s not because I’m lonely, but because I’m comfortable in my own company and my home provides that kind of contentment. The sad part is that whenever I try to do this with the outsiders, they label me as ‘lonely’ or ‘upset’. I didn’t know that the phrase “Let me be.” was synonymous with “Aw, she’s sad!” or “She’s so lonely and depressed. She has issues in life.” I’m rolling my eyes with my mansion fellows while writing that.
Speaking of which, there is another room which I am yet to tell you about – The Eye Room. I don’t collect eyeballs, but I do collect my (and others’) perspectives. I don’t just see black and white; I see grey, blue and some other colours too. I put them in these pretty jars and give them a visit whenever they need to be taken out. I like hearing viewpoints, even the ones different from mine. If these stances were humans, they would make excellent teachers. Not many would welcome all, though. I remember, when we were being taught ‘The Solitary Reaper’, I wondered (out loud, unfortunately, or, fortunately) if Wordsworth dreamt the whole thing, or if it really happened. When I suggested the possibility of him seeing the “lass” as Nature herself, my classmate gave me a weird look and said, “I’m pretty sure it’s all in your head.”
I smiled. Indeed, it was all in my mind (palace).