Your Room

Big Fishes' Carnival at The Lake - Your Room

A world of white.

Time seemed to be standing still, although day and night were still chasing each other. Boredom collaborated with loneliness to form a cauldron of mysterious feeling that was unexpectedly not unpleasant. Waking up didn't change a single thing, and neither did falling asleep. There were so many stuff in the room to mess with, yet however neat you made your room to be or however hard you tried to make it untidy, nothing really changed.

You wanted to create something, since humans are indeed creative creatures. Strangely the tools were available in your room, and you could start anytime, should the word 'anytime' still make sense. Whatever you were supposed to make; whether it was just a short story, a paper crane, a wood carving, you thought you would start. The next time you complained to yourself for not finishing what you had started, you would realize that you never started anything in the first place. Adding new things there did not work. The same applies to destroying things.

When you looked outside, it would appear like a normal city, with a few residential areas and skyscrapers emerging through, trying to reach the untouchable white sky much like our eyes trying to capture whatever was beyond the fading field. The outside world would seem to be small, as if the ends of the world was closely surrounding. The farther you see, the more unclear your vision was. The end was always white, whether it was the white walls surrounding the room with its cold impermeability or the distant something that you would always wonder since it was always covered in white. However, you didn't feel endangered, but rather, a strange sense of peace seeped in, peace in knowing the limit you should not trespass.

And then there was always the music you couldn't stop. Melodies were recited by a radio, old and feeble, that provided a pause and a stop button. However, you had listened to the fine tune so much that after turning it off, it still echoed in your head. You would never expect such effect to be long lasting, but after long you would realize that, the echo was getting clearer and the next time you looked at the radio, it was already emitting the same tune. It was as if the pause and stop buttons were big fat lies, and before long you would stop caring about that possibility and tried to enjoy the music as part of your life instead. It wasn't as if the music was unpleasant.

The air was choking, but never deadly, only to the extend where you felt like you have been swallowing some toothpaste which aftertaste never go away. At times you would consider having fresh air coming into your room, but somehow you always hesitated to open the window.  Whenever your hand tried to reach for the window, a sense of insecurity invaded your soul, for there was a possibility of it not being able to be opened. Your common sense told you that if you couldn't open the window, oxygen in the room would run out, thus declaring a certain death. A touch of a finger to the window lock sent chills down your spine, amplifying the fear of this particular ways of dying. You couldn't stand the certainty of death should you found out, and you would always end up not even trying to open the window, realizing that not knowing whether the certainty of death existed was safer for your sanity.

You started asking questions. You think someone must had messed you head. However trivial or philosophical your questions were, somehow at some point you received an answer yourself. Before long you realize that your questions have been answered, and since it came from yourself, you were confident that you would come up with the same answer should the question be asked again. Thus those questions were cast away deep in you mind, and you would never find the moment when you actually asked. Sooner or later you would ask the same question to yourself, with or without realizing that the questions have or have not been answered, then the cycle repeated, whether you liked it or not. Sometimes it was never worth answering, so your mind would picture nothing but the color white, emphasizing nothingness. It was always white everywhere.

Often the answer to the unasked question was to relax, to accept. Sooner or later you would realize that doing anything there did not work, so you could just lie on your bed and sleep even if you have had your rest. Sometimes even doing nothing did not seem to work. Nothing was gained, nothing was lost. Nothing changed, and nothing matters.