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;
