Chapter 15: May 2016May 01, 2016 - 1757 words - 9 mins Found a typo? Edit me
In the end
One step away from everything and one step away from absolute nothingness. Unlike everyone and no one. Where the true reason for being hides behind the vain intentions of perishable purposes that fade over time. In the end, only the memory of what truly interested us will remain.
We tend to mix so many different concepts that we end up combining them all, making it something admirable if we could differentiate and classify what we mix. We are talking about our value judgments; there is often so much distance between our personal understanding and the real objectivity that each situation might deserve…
We should learn to discern, at least as much as possible and always make an effort, what truly arises from our feelings and what arises from our reason argued empirically. For we are so human… letting ourselves be carried away by the same emotions betrays us time and time again. And we are so human… that our pride will blind us again and again without necessarily warning us first.
We will all end up being right about so many things and not so much about others, none even. We would be scared if we became aware that such statements coexist in the same shared space. In the end, only we will remain, and no one will be right because everyone will have been. That’s why the important thing here shouldn’t be about a “And in the end?”
As if they were necessary contradictions, with which this life is filled. Tonight we write without the intention of inventing anything new. We’ll discover only as much about ourselves as if we were strangers, tuning in to listen and read carefully to what truly matters to us, finding clarity in it, and getting ready for any potential outcome.
Feeling that we have lost some part of that essence that made us, in that sincere way, feel. Noticing that the same notes sound different than they did not so long ago in an altruistic way.
Furrowing the brow in doubt about oneself. Realizing a slight psychological confusion in our foundations, which were once fundamental pillars, will cause us fear and apprehension accordingly.
Finding and solving problems was our greatest reward, for now, like those cowards we used to criticize so much, we see ourselves reflected: scared in our confusion. Problems need to be solved, not just with patches that simulate their correction or hide the root of those discomforts.
How far do we still have to go? How great can the abyss in which this life, with its disparate emotions, become? How little can we know about knowledge itself in our attempt?
Perhaps it has been an unnecessary concern. Perhaps it has been in small accumulated doses like a snowball that grows as it rolls down the hill.
Conformity, lack of motivation, the absence of a smile without reason. The excessive absence of unselfish affection. Fear is not the culprit of anything, but the symptom of motivation’s lack in the face of the reality we have to confront day after day.
Perhaps it has been nothing. Perhaps we still have so much to fight for without fear, to achieve what we truly desire. For what could we long for more than to have that motivation to reach those altruistically predisposed dreams?
Perhaps there is less simply from this daily reflection that has lately tormented us, a reflection that some days seems to have lost control.
What is it to have lost something, after all?
Are we really?
What are we really? What could we consider as our true selves? What is that identity that could differentiate us from the rest? Are we the same person in essence as we were some years ago? What if we change the time of the previous question?
Are we different people every day? What is it that identifies us as individual beings to the rest? What is it that distinguishes us from our surroundings and by which it recognizes us? What is that essence that sets us apart in this paradox full of random questions and apparently dictated laws from the most absolute senselessness?
What will identify us, that will truly make us, that will represent us to the outside world? That which defines and characterizes us but, above all, individualizes us and sets us apart from the rest of the vast ensemble: it is our past directly linked to what we have learned from it.
The importance of our experience and perspective, of our projection and confidence, of the investment we wanted to make of our time.
The difference between wanting to be and truly being is not as vast as it might seem or as some wanted to paint us. The same is found in the projection of success.
Our past is our purest self: when we die, there will be no more identity of ours than the one we wanted to reflect.
Therefore, our present representation will be the result of our past understanding linked to our unbreakable and true understanding that will not stop testing us again and again until our breath rests without permission and without return.
History is the open book of our lives, recorded for remembrance and learning that only a few dare to read. Destined to repeat the same situations, the same mistakes that others may have already made, it seems that committing them was in our nature.
What mistakes are more than purposes that make us feel wrong in the end, conveying that unmistakable disinterested anguish? Anger… towards those fools who did not know or did not want to read the signs in time to learn when to hit the brakes.
Like a book complete with mistakes and successes where the battle between them seems balanced no matter how many days pass. As if there were no tendency towards the existence of an ending with a clear winner. It is as if our disposition leaned towards repetition to the absurd because sometimes it’s not that we are blind, but that we do not want to appreciate. And that’s when the value of history scares because there is no blinder than the one who does not want to see.
We could keep writing about this, but we are tired, furious, and perhaps even disgusted to think that there might be people who don’t want to think.
Let’s reflect then on our history, especially the one we already lived, projecting it onto what we want for our future.
Forty-nine, as the number representing this day: May 25.
Thirty-seven, as the ephemeral memory, inconsolable by excellence.
Eleven, like the one who, without seeking it, addresses himself in the third person today.
Nine, like those who remained and were forced, with no other options, to learn however they could from that situation, unexpected for everyone.
2004 was the most human and heartless year.
Zero, like opportunities for possible farewells after his departure. I don’t even remember how the day before looked, but his curly hair and her kind smile… And only reaching in our memory his reflection behind the door frame in the dark hours of the night, with no time even to say goodbye. Because no one could have guessed what was about to happen a few weeks after his departure, his impossible involuntary return.
Hundreds of nights have passed since then, and we can hardly find moments of intimacy in these letters that we both know you will never be able to read. We won’t get to know each other, but I am sure we could recognize each other… and let’s be clear that there will never be a greater desire than a smile from you back towards our gaze as you search for us.
I don’t remember when I last said “mom,” and I think that’s something my first person will never forget.
It’s pretty challenging and complex. It was the most expensive price we could ever experience. It is one of the most painful experiences we could have, and undoubtedly, all, without exception, will end up having sooner or later. And we will understand, perhaps with different eyes, the one who writes about himself in the third person today.
Trying to understand ourselves
This final stretch is just a few days away from the internal time change, with boiling tea as a supplement to those sad thoughts that could unintentionally invade our minds at these hours.
And we realize the lack of genuine interest we sometimes desperately need. Because what seemed evident in its normality not so long ago took a bit more effort to practice today. We are changeable for better or for worse.
The theory could never be easier than being written in itself. However, putting any theory into practice requires greater effort than its simple understanding: it means making that theory a reality, for there is no greater theoretical truth than the one that can be demonstrated.
With boiling tea, we realize we are in the final stretch, just a few weeks away from who knows what. And by this, we are not referring to living carelessly, but quite the opposite, to living in love until we consume ourselves in it! We are in love with what we do, with what we feel, with what we truly desire, and with ourselves. Beyond mere vain ideas or unknown concepts, let’s get to know each other in-depth! Let’s feel as we genuinely want to feel! Let’s wake up with those devouring eagerness to sweep through the day that we dreamed so much about! What the hell are we waiting for?
We did it once, evidence enough to realize that it is possible, that the word “impossible” is mistaken when it could refer to us.
We are nothing but possibilities, still waiting to be awakened without fear, eager to see the rising sun until we lay down in our well-deserved rest. Accompanied, at least, by our idea and global vision of the conquered day, and conquered it will be, for we will be the ones who have won. We should, therefore, perceive the days as achieved and not as past or lost.
Contemplate and learn to discern what we would like to change. What is it that we would really like to improve? What is it that we would honestly want for ourselves? Let’s dream about these questions. Whether they remain in a theoretical or practical dream will solely be a matter of our reward.