Personal Space

Bismillah-ir-Rahman-ir-Raheem.
Assalam alaikum!!

So I live in an overpopulated area of a criminally wealthy city. No, literally – it's a crime.

Last Friday, I was driving home in the early afternoon with my parents and the teeming crowds were a sight to see. We thought someone had passed away or something had happened for there to be so many people on the streets.

It was a Friday and I reckon most of these dudes didn't really have anywhere to go or any money to spend once they got there. So they just – hang around. In the least cool, least mundane, least relaxing way. There were so many of them it seemed like they were just standing in their own square foot of air and that was enough for them.

In an effort to save some money to remit home, men are stuffed 18 to a room in these badly maintained old buildings. I've seen dogs and chickens treated with more humanity.

It got me thinking about personal space. I'm privileged enough to live with my family and have my own room (only in this fricking city would that be considered a privilege. In other cities, you can at least close the door.) When I was in Melbourne, we did this exercise in our performance class. We intruded into each other's space. For some reason, I decided to go for the most tender part of my partner's body and that was her Adam's apple. My partner (can't remember her name) pushed at my shoulder, almost pushing me away. I can't blame her. To this day, I'm embarrassed. I apologised after it was done, but I don't think it was enough.

Other people simply got up in each other's grill. Which basically meant inching closer and closer until they got uncomfortable. Which, for these two guys in my line of sight, was about an inch away from each other. Pretty darn close.

And to think that these men spend their free time that far away from each other.

I got to thinking about the times I've felt that feeling, of being closed, trapped and having no space to stretch. Physically, Alhamdulillah, I've not felt that very often. Emotionally though, all the time. People have circumscribed my right to express myself, my right to think, my right to feel, my right to write and be whatever I want to be. I have circumscribed myself, put myself in my own little cage – unconsciously, of course.

In the end, I think personal space (the physical type) leads to mental and emotional space as well. If you can stretch your legs and pace in your room, you can pace in your head as well. You can sort out your thoughts. You can stop your temper from flowing over, you can cry your eyes out if you want to (I know I have) – you can perform all the sorts of emotional maintenance you would want to after a long hard day.

What does personal space mean to you guys?

Wassalam and Fee Amanillah,
Zed.