Chapter 10: December 2015
December 01, 2015 - 1212 words - 7 mins Found a typo? Edit me
The Art of Adaptation
To fear routine and repetition.
Sitting on the subway, longing to get home to think calmly and enjoy it with good background music. I fear not being able to finish what I started, leaving unfinished all that I would like to complete, or at least, relegate it to a stable version.
What is philosophy if not questions about questions or ideas about ideas? How apparent are things that seem evident? Who could regulate or decide their degree?
If I had to choose one word to define myself, it would be “improvisation,” like the art of adaptation.
Who can assure us that we will wake up tomorrow? Tomorrow does not exist without us. Only today and where we are heading without a decided ultimate goal.
Thinking that tomorrow is uncertain should compel us to live truly as ourselves, not to exhaust ourselves doing nothing, as if nothing mattered. I think about it every day, so making today the best day of our life shouldn’t be an option. Let’s make today the best day of our life.
I feel sad with the bleeding news, as well as happy in the company of those who make me enjoy feeling truly alive. Everything is so complex… Sometimes so beautiful, sometimes simply nostalgic and melancholic. Overnight, everything can turn cold or warm in an instant.
We are bound to our past and destined to be to our future: hence the importance of our decisions and their consequences. Feel, reflect, learn, improvise… Simply, little by little, with great patience. We will amaze the world, especially ourselves.
We don’t know when the last time will be, when we will dream, breathe, or desire. Let’s make each moment ours without excuses, without possible tomorrows that never come, without “there will be other moments” or “I’m not sure.” Self-assurance is our main key to happiness and our confidence, as well as its continuous pursuit.
It’s not about seeking unattainable and endless happiness. Instead, it’s about shaping ourselves to become what we genuinely want in this place that no one chose, where we all exist, amidst the mix of challenging yet sweet moments.
I couldn’t smile until I decided to improvise with myself. And now, everything is possible.
We Will Die
I will die. We will all die.
Cries, memories, and longing,
like ephemeral feelings
in a forgotten comfort.
You will die. It will be without return.
Nothing will remain after your wake
if you decide it that way.
Your past reveals it.
We must be more patient
because soon, we won't be...
It won't matter if you don't feel it.
Together and alone, we will cry.
At what cost does all this come?
What is the cost of this game?
No rules were set, that's true...
There will never be another "see you later."
Memory may fail us,
the memory will be forgotten.
And every person as an individual,
everything will stay by their side.
Next to their oblivion, alongside their death;
in our future, to our fate.
We won't see you again
or have you to read you.
Death as an absolute truth.
Time as a divine equalizer.
We... as mere mortals.
And then I. That is, you.
Sudden Emotions
Like a game that never ends. Like a cycle in which we find ourselves immersed without realizing it. Like a continuous loss and gain with no return.
Like a swing of emotions. Like a cold summer and a hot winter at the same time. Like a never-ending series of impressions.
Like none of us could imagine. Like we all suspected… and as happens at the end of all chapters of life.
Simply waiting for something to happen, as nothing has to be where we, in principle, believed it should be. It’s not foolish to think about it: about nothing in particular and everything in general.
So much to do and to desire, so much… that sometimes we simply don’t have the strength due to the great surprise that some days can bring us. And it’s not necessary to reject the unknown simply because it is unknown. Especially concerning emotions, without referring to any specific one. Because there are so many and so different from each other… that to avoid forgetting any, let’s speak from this abstract perspective where we all understand each other.
Without any apparent reason, and indeed, it doesn’t have one. Because everything is in our ideas and expectations, in an expectation that no one promised, submerged here and there.
Like a dream we could aspire to, a dream where an image is worth more than a thousand words, where passion and reason go hand in hand, where we are the true protagonists beyond unnecessary suspicions.
Feeling shivers in who knows how many thoughts that, like birds, simply want to leave their cage to fly freely where their instinct guides them and the wind allows them.
Like a game that will end someday. Like a continuous cycle of decision-making in which we will be involved unwillingly. Like we all imagined someday and only a few suspected. And, as with chapters, all stages eventually end. But not all in the same way. Herein lies the main difference between some and others.
Each of us will exude different emotions. It will make those around vibrate in one way or another. Emotions that will depend on everything, on the day and the time, on the who and the how.
We are so unique and valuable, especially in our diversity of sudden emotions.
Not Life
Not everything has to be decided now. It’s not about that, but it is about having a rewarding goal where we would really like to be. Something we would really like to achieve after an effort made. Something to think about that motivates us to work in our daily lives, to get up and study with more enthusiasm. To think beyond a routine, where things simply happen without apparently anyone needing to change them because, in the end, they seem to have always been that way.
It’s about motivating ourselves, incentivizing ourselves, cultivating ourselves, and not letting ourselves be carried away by life without answers or questions, without real learnings or new experiences beyond the monotony of the boring.
And it’s in our hands, in our power, and in our will to change for better or worse all of this. We are our own God, our guide. We are our last word.
A life is useless if there is no passion for living it.
The Problem with Christmas
The problem with Christmas lies behind its false values of forgiveness, love, and sincere family gatherings. I am looking forward to the day when I can see this from another perspective, really, but nowadays, it is something impossible for me, at least in my case, and it’s not precisely something that depends on me.
The problem with religion is, again, all the simulated values hidden behind it. Illusions in beautiful words that humanly end up being conveniently forgotten.
Masks that constantly play without permission. Uninvited double standards. And you, unwilling to know exactly what’s happening despite trying so hard without reward. “Hear, see, and be silent.”
Everything comes from much further back: years and years of error without correction and without hope for the future beyond an excess of confidence in responsibility, in a non-existent and foolish God. Miserable.
But more guilty than God and His non-existence is the deficiency that some have due to their excessive belief. More culpable than God are the humans who abuse Him and use Him: they modify His meaning at their whim and try to instill it as an absolute truth to their peers. Incompetent and foolish, locked in their damn hypocritical and disloyal “faith.” The context of our words can so much vary our real intention…
The problem is not Christmas itself, much less its celebration or the idea of a special family gathering. It is the one who deceives and the one who allows himself to be deceived. The problem is not the tools or what we have, but the use we make of them, especially with regard to those who matter to us.