My Symphony: Luxury Of Loneliness by Her Space Holiday
If I were a sentence written in the English language, I would be compound-complex with lots of nouns and even more verbs. I would have five dependent clauses speaking slightly about my schooling, my job, my salary, my possessions and my wants. Only two of my clauses would speak of love, romance, beauty, poetry, chaos and adventure. But these are the independent clauses, and they’d speak with clarity, certainty and passion.
My structure wouldn’t always be considered conventional as my commas sometimes induce confusion. Even my appositives could be quite misleading. I would often end up being laughed at by people who judge me as ungrammatical without even giving me a second read. They would grab the upper right corner of the page I’m written on and turn it over, unsympathetically missing the meaning behind my gerund phrases masquerading as little juvenile outputs of irrationality behind my overtly reticent figures of speech.
I would have infinitives that I truly hold close to my heart and a couple of onomatopoeic mixtures of syllables that give music to my life. I would often be misunderstood, but I’d never be boring.
Intellectuals and achievers would dislike me, though, because they’d be disappointed to learn that I am full of simple words – words they’d never have to refer to a dictionary to check the meaning of. They’d even go as far as telling me I am a waste of ink and, more especially, a waste of space. They’d critically ridicule me for not being popular, successful or bankable. They would cringe at the mere thought of my existence not contributing anything to the modern day society. I am never quoted in any book, magazine or newspaper. My strokes and my edges have never been seen in university halls and on office walls; no one finds me significant enough to be framed or published. Basically, most people think I am simply silly. Childish, lazy, rebellious.
But that’s just the majority.
On the brighter side, I would occasionally have readers who are more emotionally inclined. Now I don’t mean emotional alcoholics who regularly walk around with their broken hearts’ blood on their sleeves, or people who cry over everything about their lives 24/7. What I’m referring to are the people who treat it as a priority to read between the lines; people who know how to look at one’s conjunctions and transitional adverbs not as a convolution but as an opportunity – an opportunity to ask more, to know more, to understand more. And these are the people that I would be holding on to. There wouldn’t be many of them, but they’d be more than enough to bring my syntax to life.
So every now and then, I would be lucky enough to be situated right in front of kind and compassionate eyes. These eyes wouldn’t necessarily have to be that educated in Semantics, Psychology or Literature. These are simply eyes that have seen sentences like me in a less blinding light. These are eyes that know I’m not childish, but childlike; not lazy, but idyllic; not rebellious, but alive (and kicking). These are eyes that have the ability to read a compound-complex thing like me and see the simplicity in an instant.
And if I were a sentence written in the English language, I’d be translated to all the other languages there are in the world. Nope, not because I am so great and influential, but simply because just like all the other sentences out there, my only goal in life is to be written and read…
…and maybe even loved.