What’s great about the iPhone is that, if you wanna believe that dinosaurs breathed fire, there’s a religion for that. If you wanna believe that waving a chicken over your head can take away your sins, there’s a religion for that. If you wanna believe that sacred underwear can protect you from speeding bullets, there’s a religion for that. If you wanna believe that bread can turn into human flesh after you’ve swallowed it, there’s a religion for that. And if you wanna believe that each human being contains many alien spirits that were trapped in volcanoes by hydrogen bombs, there’s even a religion for that. Yep, there’s a religion for just about anything… only on the iPhone.
Sunday afternoon in my apartment. I watched television and carried out some household stuff while the sunlight entered through the shades, closing an excellent day, productive and full of accomplishment. I woke up early, had a good breakfast, and enjoyed a hot shower that felt nice over my sick body. Listened out loud to music only I could appreciate. I cooked lunch effortlessly, as Carla once said while watching me do it, and took a nap right after dessert. Washed the dishes while singing along those songs that took me back to times that weren’t better but where nice nevertheless. Had some mate while ironing clothes, the ones I washed after letting them sit on the ground for some months. Yes, it was the beginning of my taking back control of my life, and it felt so good! Before dinner I decided to go for a walk. Streets were quieter than usual, full of peace and elongated shadows announcing the nightfall. And I walked dozens, hundreds of steps. I walked by the cars, by the trees, over that bridge I had crossed every day for years. And I watched the stores, at least the few still open, and the people, at least the few still out. And I breathed the cold, fresh air falling over me from my beloved mountains. And then I stopped. I stopped on my feet at the end of a street, trying to decide whether to return home or to keep walking away, to finally have a third idea: to go visit someone. Then I thought… and kept thinking, until my soul became overwhelmed by a terrible truth. I couldn’t think of anyone I would want to see, or anyone that would like to see me without a reason other than seeing me. And that day I felt alone.
Sunday afternoon in my apartment. I watch television checking the clock from time to time. I should be doing household stuff but I don’t feel like it, it’s going to be an unproductive day wasted horizontally. It doesn’t matter, I feel fine in this kind of middle-class laziness, as if staying late in bed is a right conquered in fearless fight against an evil foe. Of course, it has to come to an end, and I get off my butt to make some pancakes, the ones she liked. It’s been over six months; I forgot how much they swell… had to throw out some of them. The music I like is playing, as usual, for me and my pleasure. It’s loud but my neighbors have never complained, why should they start today? Hot water in the shower, running over this body stained with the proud marks of a training warrior. It’s getting late but I’m alert and energetic, maybe the effects of that huge mug full of my favorite coffee, or the fact that I did actually none of the activities I had planned for the weekend. I’m not sick anymore; it’s just that I don’t feel like talking to anyone. My cell phone has been off for hours, I haven’t checked my e-mail in a couple of days; I haven’t left my place in so long it feels like I’ve always been here, a piece of furniture among my cardboard boxes and the dust that covers everything. I used to have lots of visitors, now I hardly accept someone here once in a while. I switch off the lights in the other rooms and sit in front of the computer, overseeing the social coming and going of my acquaintances and friends, the unrelated activities they share with almost everyone except me. And today I don’t feel alone anymore.
Being by myself is not a tragedy, but a blessing. Loneliness is a state my soul craves. Perhaps someday I’ll meet someone able to make me forget this simple pleasure. Or even better, perhaps someday I’ll meet someone willing to share it with me. In the meantime I’ll enjoy this loneliness. You should too.
No matter how interesting the subject, there will always be someone bored at the lecture. No matter how great the adventure, there will always be people trying to watch it on TV instead of seizing it. There’s no way a writer can reach each and every audience. But if you’re tired of getting acquainted with other people’s insane thoughts through their bad poetry, it’s in our mutual interest that you’ll please stop reading right now. This text is all about me. And it’s not even a poem.
I am free because my mind wonders. I am free because my spirit cares. I am free because my body loves walking under the rain when sick, going to bed early every other day, and staying up too late the rest of the time. I am free because I live without regrets despite my long history of mistakes.
I am free because I do love, and because I’m not ashamed of loving, even when it’s loving someone who’s ashamed of me. And yet time after time I get myself injured and exhausted of loving, thinking there won’t be a next try because my heart has been beaten up to it’s limit. But, somehow, I end up trying again and again because I choose to do so, to give myself completely in a relationship, to work hard for it and invest in it without a backup plan or a security harness, just wishing to find the one willing to do exactly the same. And I’m sure today I’m closer than ever, because I am free.
I am free because I have no money; or, more precisely, because I do have money and I give it away without worries. And yet sometimes I think how it would be great to accumulate possessions like everyone else does on a daily basis, measuring their success in life over the amount of zeros in their bank accounts. But, for some reason, I believe the value of money is in the use you’re able to give to it, especially in the benefit of those surrounding you, and once more I reach the end of the month with exactly the necessary to buy me lunch and maybe a soda. And I know it won’t bitter me, because I am free.
I am free because I can like or dislike people and accept them anyway. And yet sometimes I feel myself so unfair, so biased, so evilly stained with prejudice I have no face to show to the world. But, in the end and after some refreshing isolation, I’m back in a point where it doesn’t matter how similar or different we are on the outside because we’re only humans after all, everyone trying to grow at our own pace, by our own means. And I have faith in mankind’s growth potential, because I am free.
I am free because the outcome of my life isn’t written in some god’s destiny book, and isn’t forsaken to pure chance either. And yet once in a while, wouldn’t it be nice if we were just puppets, with our strings being pulled here and there, released from responsibilities and related burdens? But, all said, I’d rather carry half the world on my back than having someone else making decisions for me, taking away from me the gift of discovery and achievement. And I believe the result of this life will be good enough, because I am free.
I am free because I’m random, fuzzy, chaotic and messy. And yet right now I have this urge to tidy up, this desire to schedule my time, this longing for silence and spare time and order. But, to be honest, I don’t believe it’s in my nature to be able to keep it, to maintain a structured life outside the boundaries of my digital world. And I hope someone will want to help me compensate for this deficiency just because appreciates the fact that I am free.
I am free because I’m a puny human, with a tiny brain and no guts for anything. And yet, despite my weakness, I’ve proven myself able to take care of me and others without begging for help. But, of course, just a few lines ago I’ve recognized I’m not completely able to actually take care of all my needs by myself. And I want to never be perfect, and I wish to never be too imperfect, because I am and want to still be free.
I am free, and this freedom hadn’t come without pain and suffering. However, it makes me happy. Yes, I am happy. And I feel you will share in my happiness and make it yours… because you, you too are free. You just haven’t noticed it yet.
One day, I hope, I’ll manage to make my dearest ones understand labels are useless.
I’m sick of hearing about how bad persons change into better ones as if it was some kind of modern miracle. I’m tired of witnessing “the good ones” and their arrogance, feeling they are more decent or respectable than the others, when the fact is they only know how to wear a nice disguise among “the non-illuminated” while keeping inside of them the same weaknesses than any other person.
Knowledge or conviction can not change the inner person, they only teach how to react in certain situations, what to do and what to avoid… the essence remains the same. Such a change is not real, just a convenient adjustment.
Nowadays I’m throwing away my mask; exposing the worst of me at the same time I wish it will unleash some authentic goodness from the bottom of my heart. Will this make me a better person? Not at all, but I certainly will be more authentically me.