Space is a strange thing. No, not that big, unfathomable darkness in which our tiny speck of a planet is hanging, but space as in that somewhat smaller area that's surrounding us at any given time. Space breathes, it expands, collapses, twists and warps and can turn from a comfort zone to a cage in a fraction of a second. It can be a massive field of freedom or a suffocating void of emptiness. Space - or lack of it - is what makes a room seem crowded even when occupied by just two people, or a crowded room seem enormous and empty - apart from that person whose space you share at the moment.
Space has voids: not the mind-bogglingly huge ones, but the small, people-sized ones. Ever noticed that special emptiness left behind by someone close or special to you? It's not the same space that was there before, but a space without meaning, without substance. Space without substance may seem like a ridiculous idea, but I suspect some of you know the feeling (or a similar one, although differently phrased): like the face of a loved one suddenly missing from a family photo, the image incomplete – something is missing.
Why this sudden obsession with space, I hear you ask. Well, my space (not MySpace) has been invaded. It was not a hostile invasion, but a quiet, comfortable one. I made some feeble attempts at resistance, but this space-invader (pun intended) was a cunning and stealthy opponent and I was outsmarted, out-gunned – my line of defense broken and left crumbling in the hands of the invader. Slowly, the space in which I've been residing started growing, its outer perimeters harder to monitor and the invader found a way in – and my space will never be the same again. For now, this invader's space and mine seem to have formed a symbiotic relationship – each person's space leaving a vacuum in the other one's when that person is not around.
My space is no longer empty. :)
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