what is the point?
fall,2o2osix
If N0THING matters at the end, then WHY all this?
I ask it the way other people check the time. Automatically. Every time I am tired — tired of doing what I hate, tired of even doing what I love.
Maybe we get it wrong.
Maybe we were never doing it for the result. Or for the woman I will become one day when I finally get there.
Maybe we were only doing it for the road in between.
Like the man who was sent to exile for fourteen years and then returned to be crowned king. Everyone clapped for the crown. No one asked about the fourteen years. But everything he became, everything he gave to the world — was in those fourteen years, not on the day he got his castle back.
At the end, nothing matters.
But in the middle — everything does.
What you ate. What you made. What you sang in the kitchen when no one was listening. What you listened to on repeat at 2 a.m. How your hands shook. How people felt when you left the room.
It all shapes a soul. A soul that may not be remembered two minutes after it is gone, and yet — it leaves a fragrance. A presence once embarked, that lingers in the corners of the world, in the corners of people, where you have been.
---
Is it better to speak or to DIE?
I asked myself that once on a winter day, 12/12. I chose to speak.
Second Skin
I wore their winter
as my own.
Took it off on 12/12.
My shoulders are bare.
And burning.
But at least —
the cold is mine.
I cannot say what it is like for those who choose the other. To die a little every day rather than say one true sentence.
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For me — I am glad I spoke. Because I learned something I would have never learned if my mouth had stayed stitched.
And still, some nights I wonder — what if I had said it differently? What if I had covered it up with something softer, something more palatable? Would I still be there?
It takes years, I think, to accept a truth even after you already know it. Because you have lived it, you have loved it with the deepest part of your gut.
They say you never find peace in places you were never meant to settle. But I did. I found the calmest, safest corner of my life in a place I was never meant to be. And then I was kicked out of it.
Because I sold my self-respect for the price of candies, and gave away efforts worth pearls.
So yes. It is better to speak-to-die.
To die before your body dies. To be shamed, to be emptied, to be ash — and then to come alive again as someone new. To live a single lifetime twice.
They scroch their own throat, gulping down emotions like stones. They make themselves into diamonds, worth billions, locked away in a dark chest.
And the world, never seeing the diamond, only sees carbon. And in the end, their worth, unexpressed, mixes with air — just ashes of carbon.
---
Today, I start my other life. In this same, only lifetime.
It feels like being watered in the middle of a game of ice-water. When you are frozen and someone touches you and says — you’re alive again.
Let's see how long I can keep myself alive this time.
Because until now, I begged my own joy to depend on others. On some who never really existed. And on some, for whom I never existed.
So, what is the point?
Maybe the point was never to arrive.
Maybe the point was to get lost, to speak when disappearing would have been easier, to finally stop trading pearls for candies.
Maybe the point was to learn how to water myself.
And if that is the point, then all of this — all of it — was W0RTH it.
