E in INDONESIA.

"And you should not let yourself be confused in your solitude by the fact that there is something in you that wants to break out of it."
--- rainer maria rilke, letters to a young poet

I've wondered, long and hard, about my own propensity to withdraw into myself, those times where I find myself happiest. For a long while I supposed myself selfish, not wanting to crowd my thoughts with those of others. Or perhaps it is my inclination towards reading; that indeed is a solitary occupation most often enough, and I certainly spend plenty of time in that realm to deem the pastime as as the offender. But I think it's something more than that. It may be selfish still, but I need it. I need that time to listen to myself and, most hopefully, find comfort in the sound. Without it, I wouldn't be so sure of what I thought, what I write, or even what I do. If I never took time to be alone, I wouldn't be much help among others.

I love being alone. I love surrending the day's activities to my mind, giving my thoughts full reign. I love the pleasure of saying to one's self whatever you may please without the rebuke of the world. Yet I find, amidst all this lovely, there's always that moment, that slight pull at your conscious: go, move, get out. I cannot be alone without thinking I must be lonely.