I have lived to love and cherish private moments, I term it “the revealing moment”, and I find my inner and productive strength here. But often times, I try to understand if I actually cherish this moment or if this is actually the world I find peace, probably I was only irritated by the noises and worries from my surrounding. I have always chosen to tell my story. Being a young lady, I had always desired to associate with people and like minds. But often times I noticed I still preferred private moments, this was just me. I could always think things through, imagine images to sketch on my board, pen down words from life experiences and I thought to myself, oh! It will always be an enjoyable moment, not until the entire world was sent into an inactive mode, everything happening swiftly all of a sudden, Paused!. I could literally hear the sound of a pin dropped, the world seemed to go quiet, indeed it was a loud silence. Days passed, weeks, months, and the moment I once cherished faded away. Shouldn't I pen down some words?, no, the sheets will be filled with lonely words, how about I make some sketches, I had remembered it was the last sketch paper. Perhaps the silence will end soon. I would experience quick mood swings, insomnia, loss of interest, anxiety, general discontent, and oh! I was losing weight. I feared the fact that I was losing my mind, even in my solitude there were still fears, worries and chaos, was I going to fall sick?, I could feel my feet go cold often times, I never wanted to be counted as “sick during the COVID-19 pandemic”, perhaps it was just a flu, but no I hadn't fever, internal cold, running nose, neither did I experience any of the COVID symptoms, I worried anyway, that all this should just end, I desired to make an image of what my world looks like in my head, but no, I feared this won't make sense, confused, I abandoned my darling graphite and charcoal sticks and rejected my eraser. Thoughts, pictures, moments lived in my head like falling men who couldn't help but drown, perhaps I wasn't shown love, perhaps I was depressed, perhaps I was ignored, perhaps I was perplexed, and maybe I was scared of life after the lockdown. I felt it was a gender related issue, I thought to run to her whom I shared same gender with and who will definitely understand and probably provide solutions, but I remembered she had earlier made me preferred my private moments. Yes, she is my mum, before now we had a misunderstanding, she had used some words on me I didn't like and when I tried to express my feelings, it became a moment of disagreement and grr! It was a face-off. This has always happened every time I tried to express myself, could it be I wasn't doing it the right way, or maybe she hadn't realized I have become a woman or possibly she can't just understand me, or maybe we are just two different humans with different perspectives of life and totally different choices. I feared to accept this, but it was the truth, we were not getting along so well. Nevertheless, family is everything, I shared my experiences with my younger brother, he would laugh so hard, aren't you sick? he would tease me, or have you began to hallucinate? He seemed not to notice any sick signs on my face, I looked perfectly well to him, I had gained weight from his observation. It was then I understood it was all in my head. I tried to enjoy the moments of his company, we would crack jokes, dance to music, surf the net, play games, I felt relieved and lit up. Every moment was fun, we invested in some online businesses and tried to make cool cash, he was doing well, but I wasn't getting the tricks. I was into digital and offline marketing anyway, but I couldn't make sales, I was out of stock. Solitude still found me after all, I was all trapped in my room again, the urge to see the outside world had become so intense, but no, everyone was scared to come out, everyone was scared of being a victim of the deadly virus. I was alone; I could hear voices in my head saying “Create the image now”! Pen down some words! It became loud and even louder as I tried to ignore them. I picked up my sketch board, placed on my aisle, picked my darling graphite stick and was finally going to express myself in my work. The excitement stirred in and gradually grew as I could clearly see the image in my head, finally I was going to be proud of my self. It was just at this moment my younger brother dashed into my room in excitement for his increased wallet points, just then I heard a big bang on the ground, it was my sketch board broken into two, lying on the ground. I could feel the little men in my head jumping even faster into the sea and drowning. Wasn't this the best moment to create an image of my world?. I picked up a half of my sketch board anyway and alas! I let my imagination and darling graphite lead. In the end, I was fulfilled, I had conquered my fears in my anger.

When the alarm sounded, I wanted to continue sleeping. Instead, I slid out of the warm sheets away from the comfort of my husband's body; peeked through the venetian blinds; and noticed graceful flakes of pearly-white lace had dusted the tree-lined trails adjacent to my home. Even though the mercury hovered just below freezing, I knew today was the perfect day for a solitary winter run. So, I quietly donned my winter running clothes and headed downstairs. Daylight had not yet turned the slumberous, dark blue clouds to their morning gray, and—for a moment—I hesitated at my front door not wanting to disturb winter's peaceful silence. When I stepped outside, my warm breath mingled with the crisp, cold air as it stung my cheeks. As I began to run, my stiff legs begged me to turnaround; I ignored their cries knowing they would soon stop complaining. Only my footfalls broke the silence as the gentle snow crunched under my feet. As I ran through the woods that morning, nary an animal crossed my path; their tracks in the snow indicated that they had been here before me though. The nippy air frosted my breath, and soon my breathing mixed with my footfalls creating a rhythm. I ran effortlessly past fallen trees along the creek side with no thought of time or distance. I wasn't aware of speed either—just movement. I ran past an icy pond cloaked by barren, frost-covered trees trembling like skeletons in the brisk wind. Snow began falling around me making me feel as if I was running in a snow globe. Soon, winter's tranquility and purity enveloped me; time and distance became meaningless, and I imagined that the woods looked as it once did 100 years ago. I gazed into the distance; and for a brief moment, I thought I saw Henry David Thoreau standing outside his cabin near Walden Pond. He was not there, of course; and there was no one and nothing except for what was right in front of me—miles of glorious solitude. For years I've run alone along these trails in the woods—a quiet, almost sacred place every bit as wondrous as Walden Pond. Generally, the only sounds I regularly hear on these solitary runs are birds chirping; small animals collecting nuts; and my feet as they gently land on leaves, pine straws, or snow. I occasionally hear the pitter-patter of rain drops as they hit leaves and fall onto the underbrush and forest floor. Sometimes a light rain cools my perspiring body and soothes my spirit. Frequently, I immerse myself in my thoughts and dreams and feel invigorated. Other times, the solitude nourishes the seeds of stories germinating in my head. Here in the woods, though, solitude—as silent and powerful as light itself—forces introspection. So, I linger in the solitude emptying and quieting my mind; then, I let go of the world and my ego—journeying inwards. Here, I sometimes hear my inner voice whispering to me; I occasionally meet myself face-to-face and find the being within—the true self—that has been waiting patiently to be discovered. I continue running—grateful for the solitude and the balance I now feel. But at some point, I must turn around; follow my footprints; and return in the direction from whence I came. Reluctantly, I approach the end of my solitary run—not wanting it to be over. From season to season, I've run alone along the quiet trails in the nearby woods; and I've taken great pleasure in the solitude it offers. And to quote Thoreau, “I have an immense appetite for solitude, like an infant for sleep…” I discovered long ago that solitude is necessary for me, for that's where my creativity dwells. And I can no more live without creativity than I can live without sleep.