There’s a hollow which resounds my voice and I don’t know what will happen next. I don’t know if I want it to stop echoing my voice or stop being a hollow. Or am I the hollow, the reciprocator of measured tones? It’s very hard to be a hollow; to let go of everything you want and to suspend yourself freely into that air which is harsh and gentle by turns.

But it’s also very beautiful. This unmoored, free- flow with the current has strangely lit up every moment of my life, because the past seems surreal and the future is like a void and  for the first time I’m  not grappling with the uncertainty but just letting it be.

And in the middle of all this, I have these moments of clarity when I know everything for sure and can act absolutely intelligibly, but a nap, a song, a conversation and I lose that hard achieved, much longed for knowledge and am back into this abysmal unsettlement.

But that's not to deny the element of profound beauty I was talking about. The beauty is really based on an undercurrent of pain, or some sort of suffering- something which, when you come to think of it, makes you look at your life from a third person perspective, makes you incapable of active, decisive action but  helps you feel the full emotional impact of things without being overwhelmed by it.

I don’t know if this will pass. It hasn’t. I don’t think it will. Maybe, we’ll just have to coexist- this thing and me.