sábado, 18 de outubro de 2014
A letter I would write
Dear Sexy Spartan (a.k.a. the Batman)
Life's been good. Actually, more than that, life's been very good, considering I have one.
Saying it like this may seem redundant, like it doesn't make any sense -- why would I be writing, or rather how, if I weren't alive? But there's a tricky question. You see, I've found one can still do a lot of living things and yet be so separated from the living world like heaven from the sea. It is the strangest feeling in the world: eating, breathing, speaking, with not so much as a gust of wind stirring inside. All will, all aspiration, all desire, dead. And only one question remaining: how to light up a candle that's been blown out, without a source of fire, with no flame? So this is where I was a couple of moons ago, until something unexpected happened.
Now you may not believe this story, as I think many wouldn't, but I trust you have the open-mindedness it takes to reach that point somewhere inside our minds, between the dreamy state and the stargazing, where everything is possible. If you choose to believe, I'll ask you to wake up that childish spirit you usually wear so gracefully and sit with him by the window, because this story begins in the skies. It begins at the place where everything, every molecule, avery atom and yes, every one of the greatest dreams, started.
There was a star, you know. This really bright, always glistening star. And it was mine. Not that I had any claim over it or anything, I just had always had the feeling that it looked brighter to me than to anyone else. And like all the stuff we own, it would go missing sometimes. I couldn't find it every day, sometimes I could go for weeks without looking at it; even if I looked very carefully it was nowhere to be seen. But it was alright since I knew, just knew it, that it was my star, my own personal little light in the universe and it would still be there when I really needed, even if I couldn't see it.
Until the day there was a shower... A metheor shower, they call it. I didn't make a wish then; I usually did, and then it would come back to me in such a distorted form I almost wished I hadn't called for it. This time, like I said, it was different. There was nothing I wanted to ask for, nothing particularly strong worth wishing. And that was when I noticed, with a sinking feeling in my chest, that my star had fallen. It had plummeted through the sky and crashed down on Earth, somewhere distant where I couldn't reach it. I had lost my star, my guidance in the skies, the one that would always be there. In that moment, I was completely and cosmically alone. Only some time later did I think that maybe I had gotten it all wrong. Maybe my star hadn't crashed down; maybe it had landed. Fallen through the air and landed softly at the sea shore, or at a grass field, or maybe even at a big city. There was just no way of knowing where it could have been. At this moment, though there was something lightening up inside me already, I had no idea of just how close my star had landed, or how much it still shone.
By now, you're probably wondering what does a shooting star have to do with the state of despair and (I think) almost depression I was in before, so I'll try and quicky get to the point where it should start making some sense.
Let's skip to a couple of days later, specifically to the day when I first saw my star. Yes, that's right: I saw it. At first, it was just a flicker, I almost didn't recognize it. But then I managed to get a proper look and saw it flashing in my direction... A fixed point in space and time radiating tremendous amounts of energy towards me... No, not just me. That tiny point on the surface of the Earth was the epicenter of something much bigger, something I cannot understand entirely even today. I know one thing, though, today: that from that moment, that infinitesimal flicker of light brought my flame back to life.
Astronomers say that stars are the birthplace of the universe; that, from them, everything was created, everything was born. I felt as if a starlight had made me reborn. After what felt like centuries of darkness, devoid of feeling, taste, sound or colour, I was revived like a coal touched by the wind. At the beginning, I could still not see what was ahead, what way should I turn, but I felt that I would find a path. I felt there was more than blood running through my veins now, that there was a little life too, and the precursor of something I would later find to be hope. Above all, I knew enough about myself to be certain I wouldn't let something so precious slip through my fingers again.
So far, I haven't. It hasn't always been peachy, let's face it. I could have backed down a million times between then and now. Only that flicker of light I saw, that positive energy, that gravity I felt, it wouldn't let me forgive myself for not trying, for not insisting. It's in my name, after all, isn't it? You said it: Battle. A name, an action and an order. Because I know that light, heat, it's just energy; it doesn't pick you up from the ground. But it makes you want to do it, gives you strength, something to focus on. Most of the time, that's all you need: a point, a bearing. Like a star in the night sky. You may not even want to go in that direction, but at least you know which way is up and down, front and rear, North and South. And then everything else follows.
Today, I haven't reached a stage where I can definitely say "I'm proud for having done this and that", but I'm walking a path, making my way and learning to build another base, another level in my life. Most of all, I'm forever grateful to that wonderful starlight which, completely unknowing, grounded me on Earth again and reminded me why it's such a fantastic journey to live in the real world. I know it was my work that made it happen, but this inspiration made it possible.
Dear P. (you may have noticed how much I love some of yous aliases), in the event that you're reading this lame piece of bad writing (I've done worse, maybe it's not so bad), I have to say that it's been amazing to be able to talk to you. Your cheerful yet quiet manner of perceiving the world and living in it is simply contagious and I've found myself even liking dogs better (it's something you could be proud of if you know my history with them). I think we, as in people in general, would be a lot healthier with some more of that attitude of yours.
You've been a very good company indeed. The world you live in is simply fascinating and I'm so glad I can get to know some of it (always the curiosity!). Believe me when I say I'm feeling so fortunate to have met you! It makes me hope there's still some truly good people in the world.
So be well, be Happy, be you :) Always
à(s) 10/18/2014 02:41:00 da manhã