I’m sitting on the kitchen floor, listening to the water drops dripping from the tap, and I’m thinking whether they already know or not.
Have they found out this evening? Do they really give it a second thought or they’re too busy with their own lives?
People who know you for many years, like your family and friends, they already know what you are, so being with them you can simply be you. But people who you’ve met recently, they know nothing about you. Therefore, being around them is more difficult because you don’t really know how to be… you.
There is too many questions, too many talks, too many odd looks, too much lack of understanding.
I know I am different, I can see that, I cannot explain that. But also I don’t want to change that. Force myself to fit in.
The other day I watched a movie called ‘The Milk of Sorrow’. Sad and dramatic as it was, it somehow explained something that was happening in my life.
Even though my mother told me that she wanted to have another baby [me], I found it hard to believe that this was true. Feeling, what I’ve been feeling for all those years, I still hardly believe it.
I’ve always felt unwanted.
It didn’t matter what people said about me. Good daughter, loyal friend, diligent student. I’ve always felt like I wasn’t supposed to be here. Being around all those happy people, brought me down even more. To the point where the only thing I want to do is to pick flowers in heaven.
Tell me, Mother.
Bitter have I become, drinking the milk of sorrow.
I’ve planned my whole life. I wanted to get a job that I was good at and I wanted to move out of the town that I didn’t like. Every day, I imagined myself living far away from here in my new home and doing things I like. Simple, isn’t it?
How could it all fall apart? The job limited my creativity, people were talking on and on. My new home was made from paper, easy to burn down. The town was rotten to its roots, wouldn’t grow a single sunflower.
Where am I now?
What do I want?
I want to wake up in the morning and watch the mist clear above the woods and fields, drinking coffee on a patio.
I want to leave the house at dawn and climb a mountain only to watch the sunrise.
I want to drive somewhere, for the sake of driving.
I want to leave the house at sunset and walk the streets of a town, watching it fall asleep, waiting for lights.
My mother has told me lately that I lost the joy of life. I thought: ‘Oh, have I?’ She made me think about what ‘joy’ really means. Is it joy when you pet your dog, and he jumps on you and licks your face? Then you laugh and beg him to stop.
Or is it joy when you put a smile on, pretending that you’re happy because you’ve just started a new job.
Can you tell the difference? Can you recognize it?
I don’t understand how some people can smile and be joyful all the time. Nice to everyone around them. That must be draining… because are they really? Are they really like this when no one is looking?
Have I lost the joy of life? No. In order to lose something, you have to own it in the first place.