My mind walked around in circles hoping to tire itself, but all it did was gather a giant ball of sleep frustration that became the sun around which unabiding thoughts, woe and nagging worry orbited.

I am broken inside. Have always been. But it’s gotten bad. Lately. Lately being the last year.

“But everyone too is broken,” I sometimes whisper into the night in the lonely hours, to remind myself that I walk not on an untrudged path, that there are others, lost in the same direction. Misery loves company. Unfortunately, misery also loves me.

So, what of the last year that has made me cracked and ugly on the inside? Nothing really. I reckon it’s always been that way. But I think it is this. The only difference of late has been the way I’ve started to view myself, how I’ve now only allowed to let my eyes fall on the neglected areas of my being, areas that try not to exist but do.

Having embarked on this journey a year back—this crusade, this explorative mission in search of my soul—I’ve looked inward more than I ever had in my life. When you partake in something as I have done, naysayers tend to pop out of nowhere, uninvited, onto your path, and they try to shake your foundation of beliefs—that core—which at the point of your embarkation was rock solid, unyielding and confident. These people question you, they question your resolve, they question your ability, and in turn you question yourself, your resolve, your ability. Thankful I should be, that it was through this process of defending my actions that I’ve been re-acquainted with myself—the person I was, the person I am, the person I have the potential to be. But as much as you see the good, the flaws become visible as well. The brokenness.

The cracks have been there all the time, but it was only after I acknowledged them that they became real. My awareness has given life to them. It’s one of those you think there for you are things, or that proverbial tree in the forest mindbender. Quirkily, I think this whole shatteredness I’m currently feeling can be summed up by this two line poem. I chanced on it a decade back.

You told me I was ill
So I felt sick

Which would you prefer, being alone, or being lonely? Being alone I guess… if you must make me choose.

The road I’m on is a lonely one. Few have walked it. And not many can relate with the emotional rollercoaster ride I’m on. I’ve spent nights aplenty feeling like a lone horseman surging forward to ward off an army of gay soldiers looking for fresh meat. Peering through that fog of courage that has clouded my mind, I sometimes admit to myself, “Urrrrmmmm, I don’t think this is going to end well.”

Being alone doesn’t always mean that you are lonely. When I was 14, I used to sit on the beach in the pre-dawn to watch the sun rise, all by myself, the world still asleep. Never once, as best as my memory serves, did I feel lonely in those early hours. If anything, I felt a oneness with the earth. I was a drop of water that had fallen into the sea, and as the drop merged with the sea, I too became the sea. The sea in turn, became that drop of water and became me.

Being lonely doesn’t always mean you are alone. You can feel lonely being in a room full of people; amongst close friends, around family even. Unfortunately, loneliness, just like misery, does not like to be by itself. When loneliness finds a friend in you, it follows you everywhere, into bed, to church, onto the john, past airport security, across the ocean, across time. Of the many things I’ve been wrong about in my life, this is not one of them—loneliness is the most faithful friend you will ever have in your life. Heaven forbid that this should ever happen, but should your friends and family walk out on you one day, I guarantee you this, loneliness will be there for you.

So who is this loneliness person anyway, and what is she like? To me, loneliness is not just an awareness of being alone, but a longing, a longing to be with someone, maybe someone you’ve already met, maybe someone you’ve not, more likely someone you’ll never ever meet. And this someone need not necessarily be a someone. It could be a pet, it could be a plant you talk to all the time, it could be a soft toy or sex toy you forgot to pack on your journey, or your email that you don’t have access to. People feel lonely in the absence of the oddest (sometimes queerest) things.

Sometimes loneliness results from being displaced, and could be geographical. It could be that you long to be back at the place you grew up in, where the surroundings and associations are familiar. Certain places have the power to be so real in your mind, to the point where the place talks to you, and is almost like a person. Sometimes loneliness can visit you when you’re looking at a postcard showing some alien land you’ve always dreamed of one day visiting, and sometimes the pictures are not on a postcard but merely a sanctuary in your mind, in a place where genocidal soldiers don’t break your door down and pop you in the head. Loneliness is that unfulfilled something in your life, that emptiness that yearns to be filled.

In my book, loneliness is the worst disease the world suffers from. Some diseases kill you, some don’t, some make you suffer more than others. Loneliness just rubs it all in.

A number of businesses these days thrive on loneliness. That I know of, the biggest is Facebook; millions of lonely people, trying to lend existence to their existence, to make themselves heard, to say to the world, “Hey, I’m that tree in the forest. I posted an update therefore I am.” Many take up an existence on fake farms, are gangsters in mafia wars, citizens of countries that do not exist, and while they may walk this earth alone and lonely, in the worlds they have created they are not, and they all get to f*** the prom queen, to quote a Sean Connery line from The Rock. But even as I preach from here, from my high stool, I realise that I too am a part of this community I’ve just made fun of. One of the billions of unalone lonely people.

This may seem a little random at the point of my asking, but I’ve got a question for you. Who would you rather take sex advice from: a priest, a rabbi, a sufi or Hugh Hefner? Who would you believe if he said to you, “Hey, you know all this hoo haa over sex? It’s all over rated.”

Now, getting closer to my point. I think Jesus was sent down to slum with us for a reason. So he could establish credibility. So he could look us in the eye and say, “I know how you feel, I’ve been there. Dude, you’re so going about it the wrong way. But no worries, we’ll get you untangled.” Being flawed, I feel, was of his greatest strengths, and one day I hope that it too shall be mine.

Here’s another odd ball question for you. “If you did not see the tree fall in the forest, but you saw it getting up, did the tree fall?” How’s that for a digression?

Don’t beat yourself up over that question. Don’t beat yourself up over any question for that matter. The world will do that for you. Sometimes, you just need to give yourself a break.

As I was brushing my teeth this morning, I looked myself square in the mirror and smiled. “This is me”, I said, “a compilation of beautiful shards, perfectly imperfect. Sharp, edgy, a wise crack looking for his next break.”