Empty

For 5 months my apartment has remained bare, unfilled space, without anything to reflect myself, and I have savored the feeling of emptiness. To me, the void created contrast and served as a backdrop to my inner vision and creativity. I relished the fact that nothing was on the walls and it remained a blank canvass, just waiting for my creation, shimmering in expectancy. I know it sounds strange, but I wanted to hold onto the clean hollow walls, simple in their splendor, before life cluttered them. My mom came and declared it looked like a hospital and immediately wanted to make it 'homey'. Although I eventually agreed, I was extremely against this for some reason. When she insisted on buying a table cloth, I felt a wall of emotion rise up to object. Upon reflection, I realized that infusing personality in it would mean many things. I would have to choose what style I wanted to portray, instead of having limitless possibilities. I would no longer have the blank zen nothingness to escape from frivolity. Most importantly, I would actually have to face the fact that I moved into an apartment in Japan. Now that it's beautifully decorated, I am grateful, and I've received many backhanded compliments, lol; someone even said that it looked like a jail before. When I look around now, I feel my mother's love and pride. But sometimes, I still wish for nothingness. Sometimes, I wish for zen ... I must be crazy.