An Unfinished Soul Book
conversations of the mind that can’t be spoken out loud
For someone like me whose mind speaks louder than the rest of the world; Sometimes too loud, to the point where no matter what strings the outside world pulls to show me there’s better things out there, I am almost always drawn back to the comfort of my room and the other world I have created within it. The graphic of me sitting on my bedroom floor or on the bed, with the door locked - my mind in some other world. In the midst of all these mental battles I fight daily, some from the present and some from the past, the only way I can grasp some sense of normality is through the process of journaling. A small book I crafted, whose existence is only known by me, lies secretly stored among all my other collected books. Lost in the flock of fictional stories and novels which from the outside seem pretty standard for any book lover, that one book holds all the conversations of my mind which cannot be spoken out loud. Every letter written on the fine black lines; each word too loud for anyone say no matter the strength within their throat. The weight too heavy like a ton of bricks ready to fall. These words are the secret to my life. Words that daily inspire me to reminisce, to keep going, to reconsider, to evaluate, to persevere, to question. No matter what situation I may be going through, I made this journal with the intention to fill this book with everything that moves my soul and heart, so I never think of giving up ever again. The idea that when days get tough, and my inner voice no longer has the words to provide the strength I need, I will always have this book to turn to, and someday I hope I can give it to the person who means the most to me, so they also have a source of condolence to turn to, which is what this book has become for me.
The contents within the book vary. Each section inspired by a different experience, a different purpose, a different feeling. Special yet necessary. The first page: a printout of a poem I cut and stick so it perfectly lay in the centre, with the remaining space on the page providing the illusion of a border. I found this poem at a time when online shopping had become a way for me to fill any gaps of emptiness I felt during the day. The orders almost always placed for next day delivery so that I had something to look forward to the next day. The words in the poem provided the illusion of an elder guiding a person through life, providing the perspective and guidance I was never given. The fact that the poem itself was written with the intention to advise the poets child on life, only exemplified his success in becoming a parental figure to many through his words. The next few pages were filled with quotes spoken to me by an ex-therapist. Words he said in passing during our many phone calls, but which eventually became phrases I now live by. Diagrams he used to help expand my mental vision, sketched across the lines of the journal. A few sections in, lay some handwritten old cultural native recipes taught to me by my mother. Recipes I hope to make and pass on. The heaviest part of this entire journal lay at the back. In a flap added to act like a pocket, I added all the things I knew I would never be strong enough to resee. Bits and pieces which take my mind and heart to places I can only visit on the strongest of days.