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Chủ Nhật, 26 tháng 8, 2012

A Sunday afternoon, craving for a human interaction, that feeling I both hate and dread emerges and wraps my soul in its thick blackness, that I call loneliness whenever I feel like there is no one to turn to, to soothe my thirst for another human soul, or to comfort myself in the thought that I am loved and understood. I sort of want to cry, but simply couldn't.

Have I parted with the social world around me for so long and created such a great distance that now I don't even know how to reach out again? Or is it just because my yearn for a tender love is too much to satisfy, and I myself  from times to times have been too harsh with others, that I have, knowingly or not, crashed and deprived myself of possibilities of faithful and heart-warming company?

There is a sentence in a short story by my favourite writer Nguyen Ngoc Tu, which can be roughly translated like this: "People feel saddest and most lonely when they first wake up, and when it's sunny outside but they don't know where to go or to return to." For myself, I would like to add "and when they have tried like mad to think of a name their lips could utter, just for the sheer pleasure of a mental reminder of another human being who could sympathize, but just nowhere  in their empty mind could such a name be found."

I have tried reading, music, and sleeping, my personal drugs to lift me out of reality, but they have all failed, and reluctantly, I keep returning to the state of loneliness, a seemingly unpenetrable and black cold void.

If only I could have a dog.

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