It's Only Words...

Sometimes it feels like words should be music. When you walk into a crowded room full of the noise of voices and the noise of laughter pitched too high, so that it's impossible to make out what is being said by anyone, do you ever wonder what would it be like if the words were music?

I sometimes phase out the meanings of words. I forget for a while, that there is a meaning attached to a set of syllables strung together. Then it becomes just a stream of sound. It's soothing, when you don't have to process what the other person is saying. It's wonderful to just let it pass by without hanging on to it, trying to look ahead and plan something - a reply, even - around it.

Yes, I probably have done that more than once when we were talking. No, I don't think it made much difference to understanding your point of view. Your tone says as much as, if not more than, what your words do. Maybe I understand so well because I heard what your words sang out, rather than what your lips said. Maybe I just like the sound of your voice.

Doesn't it happen to you, that the sound of someone's voice makes you tingle? Maybe it was someone you passed by while walking down the road, maybe it was the child with the voice that sounded like the sweet chime of a bell, clear and pure. Maybe that's why I don't speak so much, because I don't have a thrilling voice. It is also why I listen more intently.  

Roverandum-1

I suffered for the longest time, from the most insufferable sort of wanderlust. I lusted to wander. But wander I could not. I was too young. I couldn’t be allowed to roam alone. No one had the time to travel aimlessly with me. I had no money. No one had any to spare for me to spend either.

So I spent years and years wondering when I would experience the world. I read about places, hoarded postcards and watched movies. Anything to get a feel of different places, people, cultures… I tried to familiarise myself with different languages, on the off-chance that some day, it might come handy.

Slowly, it began to seem less likely that I would ever go anywhere fun or do anything fun or meet anyone fun and maybe just have fun. When I decided to work, I thought it was the end of life as I knew it. To some extent of course, that was true.

Within a month I realised that I couldn’t stay cooped up in office. A deep restlessness surged within. It dawned on me that whether or not I was ever able to travel the way I wanted to, there was just no way I could stay put for any appreciable length of time in one place. So after a short period of self-inflicted torture, I packed up, became a freelancer and sat under a tree to work.

Then one day, when I had just about tucked up my dreams of traveling and put them permanently to bed, they were woken up with a sudden jerk. Dusted off, brushed down and freshly laundered for good measure, we were in business again, it seemed. All the hurdles had melted away and all I had to do was leave. So I hopped about in delight and onto a plane.

Of course, dreams and reality are never exact mirrors for each other. I found that out soon enough.

…To Be Continued…