Almost 23, Almost Alive

I'll be 23 in one month and 23 days, and it just doesn't feel right. It feels like sadness, loneliness and panic. I'll be 23 and I am lost in self-doubt, in demotivation and in the persistent desire to quit everything and run. A desire to pursue my culinary interests, a silent urge to run endlessly in a remote desert at sunset, to run until my soul is a little lighter, to learn swimming properly, to recite poetry in a new softer language, to fully feel Italian operas, to explore a tiny tropical island, to build a new story of fragile sea shells, blue sands, green leafs, my own blood and warm breath, of sweat and grey hairs and memories, all glued together with words; my soul ... I'll be 23 and all I want at the moment is not to live another day with that ghostly loneliness echoing against the scratched walls of my big heart. To end the silly hide and seek game that my dreams are forcefully playing with me, to achieve the joy of writing THE END at the bottom of a new book, my book, to silence all the voices inside me.

Last night a friend of mine told me to stop being so selfless in love, because every time I fell in love, I fell hard. In my new year I’ll promise myself not to fall in love again, a broken promise. Last night I wrote to her that she is my butterfly; I unconditionally admire the hidden beauty beneath her caterpillar skin, that my soul relates to hers, and it feels like belonging to her, where I was finally found … and the pile of the sad dusty letters is growing taller on the nightstand because she never gave me her address. I believe she is as lost as I am, but what are the odds of two lost young people spending their life together? Thousands of miles keep us apart, figuratively and physically, a caterpillar and sycamore seed, full of the desire to taste the sun glow, full of fear and disappointments.

“Am I right for such a relationship?

Do I deserve the glory of being a sycamore tree?”  

Five years ago I wanted to be a kid once more. Today I want to have my own kid. I can’t call it fatherhood because it's not; it’s just a weird surprisingly unexpected feeling invading my heart and fingertips. Why a 23-year young man would desire a son or a daughter? Shouldn’t I be desiring something different at this stage of my life; catching the soul of my second language, practicing saxophone, learning Russian, saving money for a trip in the Alps, working out to be in shape… anything but a son.

O’ Allah,

My life is full of your amazing grace,

And I am lost.

I know you're listening...

Grant me perseverance,

Calmness,

And love;

Your love.