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.
Last week I picked a chair at one of the neatly organised desks and folded some paper, so I could write numbers in columns. Soon after, the numbers blurred away when my eyes started daydreaming.
I was sat there, looking out the window, where the wind was free and he led the leaves to their destination. I shouted after him, but the glass was soundproof. I wanted to catch him, but my fingers were stuck by glue.
Why didn’t I feel content when I’d chosen this room myself?
I looked around me, at the people bent over the desks. Nobody saw it, nobody listened. I made everything up in my head. Again.
I looked at the people and I envied them. Their simple minds, simple jobs, simple lives. They’re grateful for their jobs. They’re happy to be alive, surrounded by the loved ones. That’s all what mattered.
What is there that I’m looking for? Bored already by the plainly written words on the folded sheet of paper. What is there?
I look in the mirror and I see my face. I know what it looks like. I know my name. I know where I was born. But I still don’t know who I am.
Once, I was told that I was just a tramp. Trash. Nobody.
I believed them.
I’ve been struggling my whole life to believe that I am actually worth something. I feel unwanted and pushed down to the bottom, despite my skills and knowledge I meticulously acquired. I feel unworthy everyday.
Every day I swim in the oceans too heavy for my soul.
There once was a drop of water, who had lived on a small leaf near to the ground. She spent there all days disappearing silently into the air at night and appearing again in the morning as dew. Always sitting on the same leaf.
One day, the wind whiffed low and gently brushed the leaf with the drop of water on it. The wind stopped there swirling around.
‘What are you doing here, drop of water?’ he asked.
‘I live here, that’s my home,’ she responded.
‘Why is that? Shouldn’t you flow with the stream?’ the wind couldn’t understand.
‘No, it’s dangerous,’ she said.
‘Shouldn’t you pour down with the rain?’
‘No, that’s too much risk.’
‘Shouldn’t you create waves together with the ocean?’ the wind kept asking.
‘But… I’m scared.’
‘Why are you scared of who you are? Stream, rain, ocean… these are what you’re meant to be.’
‘Of course, these are what I’m meant to be. I am water. I could be anywhere. I just choose to be nowhere,’ the water said and hid behind the leaf.
I’ve fallen into a rabbit hole. Everything seems like a dream, except for everything is true.
And everything I wanted to be true now is in limbo. I don’t know what to do because, whatever I’ll do, I know I won’t be satisfied either way. That frustrate me so much that I want to run away far away, where I can’t read and listen and see anything that is unwelcome by my inner self.
That’s my life now.
Why has it happened when I started understanding things and wanting things to be my way?
Because I wanted everything at once and now I have to pay for it.
I look at the time, feel it escaping from under my feet. The ground full of dull colours tries to tie my legs, so I run through the forest of leafless trees. The crying branches painfully cut my skin and squeeze my body in their strong grips. I feel like I can’t breathe… The deck of cards is after me, wanting to suck the paint out of me.
What is your first thought when you wake up in the morning?
Where am I? How long have I been here? Who am I going to be today? Who am I going to be for the next five years?
I wanted to be someone new. Someone whose life is exciting and full of adventure. I’d dreamed of my new life every day, pictured it in details and couldn’t wait it to be true.
Everything had been drawn. Everything had been planned…. Everything fell from the cliff into the wild sea I wanted to feel in my heart.
Now I’m standing on the edge. Torn. Either I step back into the comfort of the soft grass or jump to catch my dreams. It’s only a nanosecond and suddenly I find myself calling after the wind who takes everything.
What do your dreams look like? What colours do they have?
Mine were blue and purple, until they became grey and black, until they became ash.
I wasted all my energy on chopping wood, so that I could heat my home that never existed. Instead, I should have been dreaming of the fire that warmed me up, that calmed me down. Now there’s nothing left…
Everything I’d drawn lies at my feet pretending to be a jigsaw. I don’t want to make them whole, though. And everything I’d created blurred away into a crayon smudge that I desperately want to get rid off.
And I’m still here… The waterfall is in place to drown me, choke me to death.
I looked forward to coming back home, but as I drove puddles cut my way. I had to stop. I got out of my car, stepping straight into a swamp and staining my neat shoes. I knew the marks would never come off.
There was no coming back.
I remembered the home from the old times. When you were there, waiting for me, brewing tea, sitting in a chair. That was what I hoped to come back to.
Even though I perfectly knew you, I completely forgot who you were and what you did to me. I just missed you. I wanted you to sit next to me.
You always said what you felt, but I never wanted you to love me. Now I want nothing but you to love me.
I’m standing on a shore, staring at you, and I don’t know what to say. Maybe there’s nothing to say.
I’m standing on an edge, wondering about my life, and I don’t know what to do. Maybe there’s nothing I can do.
I’m standing on a hill, thinking about flying, but I don’t know how to breathe. Maybe there’s no breath in me.
And I sit on that bench. Tired of asking myself questions that have no answers. If I could… if only I could lay my head on your lap, feel the warmth of your body, hear the whisper of your voice, feel your touch on my hand. Then I would know all the answers.
Then I would follow you everywhere, letting you lead me.
I went to the forest, holding your hand. The trees absorbed you. You left me in the darkness. You left me in the cold.
Once upon a time there was a girl. She read a lot of books and studied hard every subject at school. She was good at everything she did and everyone had told her that she would achieve a great success in the future.
Spending every evening in her room, she read more and more books. As she read them, surprisingly, the world became more and more complicated and enigmatic. She kept going, though, because she’d been told that knowledge is important.
Once there was a competition in class. The girl answered correctly every question and won it. The whole class and the teacher gave her applause. Only then did she realize that knowing everything she actually knew nothing.
Only then did she realize that everything she learned from the books was useless for the life she wanted to have.