I like Francoise Hardy a famous French singer in the 1960s. Her songs are about what I would call “romantic loneliness”. Despite her beauty, intelligence, and sensitivity, she always seems to sing a song about her lover leaving for another woman which I can associate myself with. As a matter of fact, the singer herself is an intelligent woman who attended at the prestigious French national university Sorbonne. Her shyness and uniquely simple but elegant fashion style in her prime time were what distinguished her from her fellow chanteuses. I see no other female singers as elegant as Hardy to this date. And this song is one of my top list of songs I like.
The above-referenced adjectives are hard to choose when I describe my own self. Am I out of place? Yes, I feel frequently so when I talk with others and find myself estranged from their subject matters that are uninteresting. Anachronistic? Yes, when I listen to what others say about their life patterns and their perspectives on trivia, relationships, facebooks, etc., etc…
In fact, I always feel uprooted to the time and place where I do not belong or I do not seem to find much comfortable to live. Such feeling of estrangement from the present has developed a certain kind of malaise in me, which is akin to perpetual melancholy.
I often ask myself where I should be. My peers seem to have already established themselves in their lives whether it is at home or at work; they are married with children, tending the family matters as homemakers or they are successful career women in terms of social strata outside the home. No wonder do I feel alienated from the group.
I ask again myself. “Quo vadis?” Will I always be a stranger among these aggregates I encounter here at this time of my life? My true volition is to get a crystal ball that will show me the right avenue leading me to the right place in my life. Or seeing a chiromancer may fulfill my never-ending sense of premonition.
Or it might be that all these things that I talk about and feel are nothing but a Kafkasque dream; that all of the aforesaid and things I am writing down are not of a reality but of a very realistic illusion.
It’s a Litany of Saturday Night Melancholy. Thank you all for reading it.
Alone, alone, all all alone, Alone on a Wide, wide sea.”
-Samuel Taylor Coleridge