An exploration of self

An unpolished poem

Who are you? One can ask.

Answering though, 's no easy task.

Privacy, integrity, both balanced with honesty.

The wish to be known, but remain unthreatened

To trust, but not have that trust betrayed.

Memories. Who am I?

I am my memories, my experiences.

I am my faith, my trust, my axiomatic beliefs.

I am who I am. I am where I'm from.

A simple question.

A heavy answer.

Should I tell? What should I tell?

The truth? How much of it? I have an Ocean of truth.

I've lived a life. It still continues.

An interesting life, in interesting times.

How to share, when even the smallest rock pool makes no sense without the tide?

How to trust, when my secrets are all connected?

I share one, I share them all. There is no small betrayal.

I make no sense without my secrets. And these secrets, hundreds know.

The first thread is in my speech, a gentle tug, it all unravels.

My birth, my life, my family. Where I lived, learned, grew and matured.

I could stop at the beginning, but that feels wrong. They asked a question.

Should they remain in ignorance?

Walls are good, and walls are useful. This is true for everyone.

And yet, I feel like can't build one. My very self, a public park.

I do have secrets, things unshared. Of course I do, who doesn't.

But you might hide your home, your passion.

Not the fact you don't have one.

Concepts, common, by the dozen;

Simple, easy, comfortable.

What's a home? And how is Friendship?

Why do people settle down?

How on earth does one discover

what they want to do with life?

Stop.

Rewind.

This format, this rhythm is a harmful crutch.

Focus on the what, not how.

Break the flow.

Flow.

I always loved the sea.

The calm, the rage, to endless motion.

I only ever lived near the sea for a month or so.

I learned its power, saw the rocks

That washed to shore, up from below.

I saw the cars, the boats, the signs, all rusted by the salty spray.

I read a lot about the sea.

I read of beasts, of monsters.

I read of pirates, long ago.

I read of not just rage, but fury. Ships lost, dashed apart by storms.

I learned to fear the sea.

Not from the shore. I know to respect it. Don't go swimming in a storm.

But I'm wary of going on a voyage, where I would be asleep on board.

I still love the sea, but I live far from it. The sea can wait for holidays.

I always loved the road.

The sights, the speed. It goes ever on, and on, down from the door where it began.

I have done multi-day trips on the road almost every single year of my life.

A day to Hungary, one to Germany, one to France, and then half to the British Isles.

Sometimes we'd go through Germany, and arrive in France at the end of day two.

Sometimes after midnight.

I love the road. I don't love the cars. Or the buses.

They are loud, bumpy, uncomfortable.

Year-old crumbs of food dropped between the seats make it stink.

You need to put luggage in your legroom, so that the drivers can see out the back.

I don't understand people who love cars.

I guess they probably haven't spent a whole day in one, except for food and toilet breaks at motorway stations.

I love travelling.

You can read for hours at a time. You can play word games with your siblings.

you can daydream for hours at a time, imagining how a steam-powered Von-Neumann machine would work.

You can wake up from a half-asleep state, and see all sorts of sights.

Rivers, mountains, forests, buildings, waterfalls, ports, lakes, power stations.

I've seen plenty. Every time, an experience of beauty.

You can discuss all sorts of topics with your family.

Philosophy, Theology, Politics, Media studies, Literary criticism, Cryptography, Biology, and others.

Some topics are more fun than others.

Slowly, I learned of the dangers.

Any shark attack is reported by international news. A car crash?

Someone needs to die for it to even be remarked upon in a local paper.

I learned to fear the fury of the road.

I still love to travel, but I shall never learn to drive a car.

Cycling, walking, public transport. All a lot safer, cheaper, greener.

Writing this, to put online, for strangers to read.

A cry for help? An explanation? Perhaps, perhaps.

But also proof of what I'm saying. I cannot talk while completely hidden.

What I share, raises more questions. You either know me in person, dear reader, or you have questions.

I am not comfortable sharing more. I am not comfortable putting up this wall. I don't like where the boundary is.

But I cannot share less, and shall not share more. It feels like I have to explain.

I can't explain it, so I won't.

I don't know how to end this "poem". But I have university stuff to do, so farewell!