Unbreathable Lovely Air

“Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade. But doth suffer a sea change. Into something rich and strange.”

                          -William Shakespeare

What if air is alive?

Have you thought about that?

Air is alive and displaces the terrestrial construction of reality. I’ve been very keen on this idea recently; whenever I think of it, I think, I have a way out. Not outing of anywhere, but myself; my body, my mind, my self.

I'll let air take charge. And. I am out.

I have had enough of my self. That subjectivity has always hindered my actions and impetus. Sometimes, I thought I would perform myself perfectly and make everybody happy, but the self curbs my body from fulfilling those actions, as if, I should have smiled or wept, but I acted apathetic, detached, and uninvolved, as if, I should have gotten angry and resisted, but I behaved obediently like a nice little girl and took in all the shit and still docile; as if, I should have been solid and indestructible, but I reacted like a fucking coward.

I always delegated my energy to the most dislocated temporal-spatial interface; I have done everything all wrong. Not in the right sequence. Not at the correct moment. Not in the appropriate circumstances.

I feel entrapped in this self, never had any control of it. I feel imprisoned in this relationality. I have always wondered if I am a stranger to this milieu.

I have concluded that I don’t have autonomy because of my subjectivity.

Is there a way out if I do not exist in this reality? Will the "new" environment reconfigure me? Will it be the medium embodying monstrous energy that reforms my body and self?

In this unconventional dimension, everything is upside down, in the most deviant and contorted system - the air, the pressure, the light refraction, and the magnification are all diffracted.

Air becomes a stranger. It spreads over, into, and is haptically, visually intangible, and unseen. There is no absolute articulation of the ontology of materiality but enfold bodies into a cluster of assemblages in the structure of air. I should be cautious before taking everything for granted when we get too familiar with each other. I told myself that I would allow my self to become primitive, naked, and defenseless in air, just like the moment when I was born. I didn't know air, nor did it know me.

This epistemological rupture of nudity is a signifier of rebirth - I, too, need to relearn my body, my mind, and my self. To go back to the moment when everything was fresh, novel, and I, still had that curiosity to explore, yes, to explore, not receive, not react, not respond, but traverse. This traverse is a come across, travel through, from the beginning to the unknown end. I do not own any expectations of any relationality. The specific motion of my body, my mind, and my self - a feeling of wandering but with a purpose; just like those nomadic subjects divagate from here and there, without knowing where they go, nevertheless, they know they are going. I wish that someday, somewhere, I can also feel that touch of moving, whether it is forward or backward, no matter if it is inward or outward; I am not passive and certainly not entrapped. I meander and take ownership of my own reality. I am of my self. Nothing else.

That day will come, and I will be capable of feeling that rebirthing energy that nothing of my self shall be stranded; conversely, both of my self and me are transformed with air, into, something uncanny.

References

Karen Barad (2015) Transmateriality: Trans*/Matter/Realities and Queer Political Imaginings. A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies

Philip Daileader (2001) Nude Shakespeare: Shakespeare and Sexuality

Rosi Braidotti (1994) Nomadic Subject