Realm

When social media suffocates me, I turn to my primary source of calm and relaxation; reading and writing.


Reading, is where I slip into a world of fantastical constructions, where my worries ceast to exist, and I drown in problems belonging to others. I sink into their characters, delve into their thoughts, and entangle myself with their dilemmas, choosing them and casting my worldly concerns aside, even for just an infinitesimal moment. As ironic as that sounds, I find comfort in the worries of another. I forget myself when I am them.


Writing is not my release of pent-up emotions. Instead, it is my way of immortalising them by inking them on blank papers, each fret and frustration locked down in black, like the sins of past dictators carved into stone, waiting for spectators to judge and mock. I will look back at my writings and laugh lightly or howl, depending on my mood then, for the worries and anxieties that had once haunted me will no longer hold me captive. It will be like reading a composition by a forgotten spectre.