I spent my childhood playing on my own. Instead of with people – I played with toys, because I did not have brothers to keep me company. When I learned how to read and my social circle expanded, I realised books understood me better. They talked less and said more. I was bothered by all the noise coming from the loud-mouthed, because in the world full of hollow hearts, it echoed even more loudly.
It is very hard for me to forgive. I do forgive, but only myself and my insomnia know how much strength and effort it requires. Especially when you do it over again. Especially when you forgive the ones closest to you over again.
Like all the other people in this world, I also have two wolves inside me. A white one, tame, strong but sensitive, strict but just, a guardian but a well-intentioned one who could forgive anyone. And a black one, a shabby, starved avenger, who’d deliver justice with his jaws, punish by his actions and only forgive those repenting on their knees. In a fierce fight between the two, the one I feed always wins. I have no way of knowing how, or why, which demons from the past raise the one starved and barely alive to its feet, the ferocious wolf, which witchcraft they employ to give it strength so that, despite being neglected by me, it still ruins my sleep…
For most people today Love means being loved, not being able to love. So much is expected of it and nothing is given to it in return, it is insulted, humiliated, misinterpreted to such an extent that due to all that lynch-mob atmosphere it has gone underground. Like a vagabond, it sneaks around in silence, lingers on street corners, listens to gossip about itself and rarely makes a public appearance. And, why would it, when it is, despite being the best, so badmouthed?
I used to think you had to be a player to succeed. I used to think you had to calculate sometimes, tolerate, keep quiet, turn a blind eye. I used to remove my piercing before entering an office, cover tattoos at job interviews, keep my mouth shut while bosses threw phones to the floor in a fit of rage, instead of holding the hands that I love, I used to clench mine in my pockets. In short – I was wrong.
Since being good and being foolish have always gone hand in hand, today everybody, trying to avoid being labelled as foolish, chooses to present themselves as evil. They claim to be protecting themselves in that way. It’s better to appear unapproachable than dumb, it’s better to be unresponsive to communication than someone who’s easily made a sucker. By way of some twisted logic, it has become better to go through life convincing others you are not that good to banish the possibility they might think you are either foolish or stupid.
Please, spare me those wussy, given in teaspoons, measured by pipette, ubiquitous kinds of love that are not real love. Spare me those instant pleasures that can only blur your mind, make your cheeks blush and cause stirring in your groin. Those so-called kinds of love with an expiry date, with terms and conditions and liabilities. Those misguided priorities solely driven by egos while everything else is insignificant. Spare me half-understood definitions, theories learned by heart and incomplete anamneses on the subject of love, and all of that without a single day of practice.
Shall I make it this time? How long is life going to drive me in neutral like this? Where am I going and how long will it take me to get there? If I get off at the next stop, will it be too far from home for me to come back? What if I am already too close to the destination so I shouldn’t be getting off at all?
I got the scar on my left ankle when I was five years old while I was playing hide and seek. I cut my leg on a broken beer bottle. My tendon showed. The one near the navel I got after an operation. Nothing serious. I survived. This one on the cheek – the one you cannot see with the naked eye – that’s from life. It slaps you sometimes. I’ve got used to it.
They say people become wiser with the passing of years, but being a crank myself, I realise the faster they slip away the less I know. They say you learn from other people’s mistakes, but I have to experience mine a couple of times before I even get to realise they were actually mistakes. It seems to me I do not learn anything with the passing of time, but that I actually unteach myself all the things I see other people do. Someone could say I am a rebel, but I would say I love people. In a world in which a coin is worth more than a hug – it boils down to that. As soon as it is perceived that you are not guided by your wallet but your feelings, they start looking at you as if you were a guest in an era you do not belong to, having been banished into exile through a time portal.
Sometimes life puts us to the test not because we should learn something new, but to revise the stuff we have already learned. To check whether we really know something, or it’s just empty talk. To see how we put into practice what we talk about in theory. There are enough A-graders, know-how experts are required now.
