Feel free to call me by my last name as I do the same, at least until the moment we both come to the conclusion there is no need for that any more, since showing respect for someone’s integrity has nothing to do with their job title, level of education or age. Therefore, we call each other by our last names for the time being.
Tolerating a bad marriage for your kids’ sake is the same as bombing for peace or fucking for virginity. Impossible. Contradictory. I don’t get it, what could be so bad about a civilised divorce that has not already happened ten times worse in a bad marriage?
Lately people who are not in a relationship have been all singing the same song of woe. Some of them sing soprano, others sing baritone, but they are all singing the same tune. The supply is of poor quality, those available are good for nothing, they are not able to find a normal person. Nobody is beautiful enough to the strong, and nobody is strong enough to the beautiful to make them feel complete. After such complacency and a schizophrenic combination of self-confidence and self-respect and after a lot of complaining (usually dismissing it as such), they finally come to the conclusion, triumphantly, that they actually do not need to be in a relationship because they are not prepared to be accountable to anyone.
Dear Me,
How are You? Haven’t heard from You in a long time, even though I know You are here. Nearby. I haven’t written to You in a while, but I do think about You often, and now is the time.
First of all, I owe You a sincere apology for not believing in You for the last quarter of a century, even though You have been my honest friend. Then I owe You an apology for being easily manipulated, for believing others more than You, for listening to those lies on the outside and silencing You while you were screaming the truth from the inside. I beg You to forgive me for leaving You all alone down there, for wandering and not coming back to You, for leaving You worried.
We live in a world in which a perfectly ironed shirt, a designer suit, trendy glasses and an expensive perfume can open many doors. If you know how to fake a smile despite the truth of a rotten tooth behind it, if you can throw in some foreign expression during a conversation even though you don’t know the grammar or the spelling of your mother tongue, if you casually mention some exotic destination you have travelled to even though you have no idea what the sights of your own country are, you will be able to open doors, even those which carry the name of a CEO on a silver plate.
The system we live in has tripped us up perfidiously and deviously ever since we learned to stand on our own feet. Fairy tales have created princes on white horses, gyms and fashion have imposed unattainable physical standards, porn movies have shaped insatiable appetites, television has promoted instant morality… Love is mentioned by only a few people, very rarely and so shyly that in such an atmosphere we have reached a point when love is unwelcome. As they like to say – it makes us feel vulnerable. That’s a lie. The absence of love makes us vulnerable, and love makes us stronger.
Certain things, people and acts leave a scar that we carry through our lives… a bleeding scar. They cut deep through the softest flesh of our insecurity, they smash the strongest armature of our self-confidence with a mallet, set fire to all our suspicions dormant up to that moment. Once they are done, they say they did not do it on purpose, they turn their back on you and leave. And we, hobbling, broken and burnt, step into the future dragging all that emotional baggage, which more often than not gets heavier faster than it takes us to heal, so there comes a moment when we start tripping over it.
Nowadays, when it is more important to have than to be, when your worth is measured by how much you manage to acquire, not by how much you can give, when only what is expensive is beautiful, and not what is valuable, when we take care of money, not people, real love has become elusive, imperceptible, even unimportant. It seems that it is unsustainable, unless it is sustained by credit cards, it dies of starvation unless it is fed in expensive restaurants, it comes late unless it is chauffeur-driven in luxury cars, it does not sleep peacefully unless it keeps cash hidden under the mattress.
I had an opportunity to work as a wedding photographer. On average, it happens that every third bride is not pregnant. Those who happen to be pregnant almost invariably have an awful time of it. First their feet get swollen in high heels, then they have swollen joints wearing flats, their corset is too tight, the smell of incense makes them feel sick in the church, they struggle with long dresses… During that ordeal-like ceremony that lasts a whole day, even those who are not pregnant do not have a particularly good time. They kiss who they would not otherwise, smile at those they would rather slap, dance when they would rather sit, are photographed when they would rather hit me with their bridal bouquet.
As with most other people, life has not caressed me. But people have. And they did it so well. Sometimes with their eyes, sometimes with their words of comfort, sometimes through touch, but always sincerely. They would appear as if on command at the most critical moments. And how healing, spontaneous, those caresses were, not asking for anything in return while giving their all.
