Time

So, time. Time, it fluctuates. My father says that life is like a train, make sure you are on it, because it does not wait for you once you get off. I usually get on and off, on and off. Perhaps I have missed out on a lot by doing so, but I know that it feels good to stand still when I am exhausted. And I know there is a view waiting for me every time I get off. It is fascinating. I sit there at the imaginary station and watch people elbowing their way through the crowd, somehow in a stressful despair, induced to be in control of everything. I like people who act as if they have all the time in the world. They let time sink to the bottom of their life, they breathe it, they taste it, they smell it, but they never let anything pass them by just because of time. Some of them walk and talk fast, they evolve in a certain matter that not many people are capable of.

Time is everything. Timing is everything. Is that accurate? Or is it just an excuse to justify some of our experiences and actions, sometimes even our heartbreaks?

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Purpose of life

Ask me the most basic question.

What is the purpose of life?

You know my answer, don’t you?

I do?

Yes.

So, what is it then?

I don’t know.

You don’t know the answer?

No.

So, why did you make me ask the question?

Because I wanted to tell you that I don’t know the answer.

Life

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She used to run like crazy in the woods, listening to nature and letting it embrace her mind. There was a part where the trees were colored in many shades of gray, making the scenery seem misty, and she ran even faster than crazy just to get past her fearful thoughts. She held her breath and did not look around until she came to the spot where she felt safe again.

existing and non-existing

There was a time she used to write about blood. Not because of its cruelty that most people think of, but rather its symbolic appearance in our emotions. She bit her lip once, looking in her own eyes in the mirror in some strangers room, thinking of herself as alive and lost at the same time, and even letting one single drip of blood from her lip fall on the floor. Everything stood still. All she could hear was a distant noise from the streets of the city that symbolized everything existing and non-existing in her life.

What we are destined to live

‘Everything I do, I do it for you!’ he yelled, in desperation after all those years in misery and then a few years as a bohemian fisherman living isolated on the coast while she, the lucky one most of us would guess without being close to accuracy, traveled through country limits and landscapes of emotional uphills and downhills. Being lost was her destiny. And I, well, I identify with her and think of her story as what I am destined to live.

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If her history is gonna repeat itself, so be it, let it happen. That is what she thinks, while waiting for something to say, something to justify not wanting to respond to his questions. But she can’t really come up with a reason not to, which is what’s killing her.

People who lack questions are the worst ones

I was sitting there telling him about the genocides through history. The ones that have been internationally accepted and the ones that are still the grandchildrens fight for justice. He was sitting there, with his years of experience in prison and psychiatric clinics, trying to convince me that Jesus will save the ones who believe in him, and only them. Why, I asked with the book about genocides in my lap, do you try to convince me to believe in something that keeps people parted and even kill for?

He did not understand. I smiled. He smiled in return with a lack of the questions I was hoping to see in his eyes.

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We came to his apartment and as I stood by the door hesitating to take a step inside, he gave me a gentle push with his hand. We stood there in a silence so overwhelming that I wanted to hold my breath just so it wouldn’t break.

So, what do you think? he asked with a voice seeming very distant, yet I could hear him breathe right behind me. If I did loose my balance I would fall right into his arms, I remember thinking.

I turned around and looked him in the eyes.

It looks good, I said with a voice belonging to someone else, some stranger from the past I haven’t been able to relate to in a long time.