Tank fish

My ankles throb and I can’t sleep – body tired, mind racing. There are itches and scratches and bruises to poke at, there’s the temperature and the position and some annoying static noise coming from the radio. It’s dark but my eyes have adapted to the dark, and so it feels like it could well be three in the afternoon. Yet it’s not, and sooner than what’s desirable my feet will have to be on the ground again. Sleep and I are enemies.

Somewhere in there, though, there’s satisfaction and happiness. It’s three AM and there are some kinds of rewards that you can only gather on the very outskirts of who you are, uncomfortably close to the barriers.


At times when I’m tired, when I’m annoyed at myself for still being awake and feeding these thoughts, I picture myself as a fish. Like one of my favorite quotes says, I was born in a tank. A safe and beautiful tank I’m so so grateful for. But I kept banging my head against the glass sides, going around in circles because my infinity didn’t exist.

Then I found my way into the ocean. I didn’t adapt to the tank, I sought out the ocean. I look back at the tank, at times, and feel sorry for the stranger I am in that alternative universe where I adapted to the tank. There’s so much possibility in the ocean that looking at the other fish in the tanks I also comprehend the fact that everyone has the choice and everyone’s right is different. But I know my wrong.



Yet there is comfort in the ocean. There are safe spots, too, and calmer currents, and beautiful reefs. I like writing in this blog because it’s almost like my constant reminder that there are other cliffs and caves out there and I didn’t leave the tank to create my own little tank in the ocean. Welcome in, water.



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