I fancy freedom because I come back from work to an empty house. The rest of the evening in my hands, at my leisure. I can take a bath, watch my show while eating the greasiest pizza or maybe even have ice cream for dinner. I can skip my workout and stay up till 3 screaming “Down Bad” (that’s a whole other workout) or go to bed at 8 in my fluffy pyjamas next to my peppermint candle with absolutely no restrictions. No one is breathing down my throat. No suffocating opinions.
I’m free.
Freedom doesn’t fancy me because I come back from work to an empty house. No one asks about my day. No one greets me. I’m too tired to draw a bath. I’m not in the mood to cook. My takeout bill is already too high. I cannot afford it anymore. I might just go to bed hungry. I’m lonely.
I fancy freedom because I enter the party enveloped by the warm hugs of alcohol and sweat. I dance around till my feet start screaming for help. I laugh at the eternal love story between my heels and me. I find a barstool and sit to catch my breath while sipping my cosmo. I look around and everyone’s engrossed in their own little bubbles. I could just find someone to dance the night away with. I could just get drunk and have the best night of my life. I could just sneak out, pick some food, and spend the night playing taboo with my sister. No one could stop me.
I’m free.
Freedom doesn’t fancy me because I sit at the barstool only to realise that everyone is busy in their own little worlds. No one would notice if I got too drunk. No one would make sure I was taking in the appropriate amount of food or water. No one would notice if I left. I look down pretending to be engrossed in my phone. Putting on the facade of the mysterious girl you want to know hoping someone would notice. No one does. I get up and leave.
I’m lonely.
I fancy freedom because I decide to get my house redone. The designer asks me what colour. I almost say cream but then my mind reminds me, ‘It’s yours now’. I grin from ear to ear thinking back to heated arguments with my parents when I wanted to paint my room blue and they refused to. The ball is in my court now and I can practically spin the colour wheel to decide. Midnight, persian, navy, or should I just switch to green? There are no sides anymore. It’s just me. I’m free.
Freedom doesn’t fancy me because I almost say blue but my mind rushes back to the blue dollhouse my parents bought after our argument. My grin fades when I realise no one is there to help me make such decisions. No one is there to tell me a strict no. No one is there to pick a colour scheme for the house. There are no sides anymore.
It’s just me. Me who’s lonely.
I fancy freedom because it’s just me. Freedom doesn’t fancy me because it doesn’t let me forget that it’s just me. Do we always say we can freely make choices because freedom always comes with the word lonely? Are the two even different? Can you have one without the other? Are your choices truly yours, or are they just byproducts of a subconsciously rebellious individual who thinks that the opposite of whatever choice they made under restrictions is freedom? Is freedom then not just an illusion? Because when you come back to an empty house and there is no one to eat a meal with or watch a show with, even if it’s your favourite one, are you free or are you lonely?
I fancy the word freedom. I’m scared of the word ‘lonely’. I’m stuck in this anomaly.