Freedom of the Words

[Context: I started to work in a corporation immediately after I finished my PhD — without a break.]

Work, to me, was a burial of the truths inside me. It was an enforced silence. In every long commute (70 minutes) to work, my words, one after another, were dissolving into an abyss. My language was mutating. I began to notice that I couldn’t communicate what meant to be said — what my heart yearned to say. Or perhaps it’s better to say that my mode of communication was changing into something deranged: miscommunication was my new mode of communication. I wasn’t myself.

After I moved to a place close to my workplace and went on a solo trip, the words eventually found their way back to the surface, like the seeds that sprout. I, once again, became myself.