Brief an Lord Raleigh, 26.11.06.
Sehnsucht… one of the first words I learnt of this language that now a days enraptures me until filling each gap of my existence. Since then it has become my favourite; meaning longing, tireless search of the lost ideal, nostalgia of ages which never really existed and actually are the ones which draw the future as a never-ending path, whose threshold I’ve already walked through.
My longest journey set off the moment I decided that my place was between the scroll and the ink pen; and my aim to give expression to every sensation that I would experience along my both inner and outer trips.
Long time ago I lost the faith in the human being, in the possibility of changing the world, in the utopian idea of finding restless souls with higher duties. For so many years I’ve been living between the two realms, whose boundaries were too insurmountable to merge. Due to the fact that it was the only way to break free, I made up a twisted universe of relations, where I stood as the regent who could compose and unravel my own fairytales, space and time were melted and limits undefined. I even gave names to both of them, I even called myself under several identities, I even desired to fall down into the depths of the abyss without turning back to the growing rottenness that I had to face day after day. Time went by and every morning I wished to faint and wake up in the middle of my sublimated dreams. I cursed the wicked reality because I was too much afraid of recognizing the obviousness around. My only motivation was walking along that path among the dried up leaves, and then becoming withdrawn into myself again. Once I had finished my stinky routine and cleared all my imposed obligations I fled to my Sanctuary of harmonic whispers and colourful verses, willing to get lost in each fantasy the way that the caged untamed beast inside me could scream and satisfy its thirst of freedom and revenge…
But the blaue Blume was still running through my veins, refusing to be defeated. That’s why I never gave up and kept on striving for my dream, for rising over the clouds, for rebirthing again in this place, for regaining my fragile innocence then reduced to bleeding pieces.
It’s hard to explain how I feel right now and how this place gave me the last impulse to open my eyes once and for all. As I’ve said before, I died in Spain to be born again here. I feel like that little girl everytime I go shopping and examine slowly the canned food, wondering myself what would they hide inside; surrounded by a pleasant melody of unknown words, exploring each corner of the streets, getting lost in the unintelligible lines of knowledge to find myself again, stammering syllables as fast as possible, hearing conversations that I still can’t break down, as if the citizens walking by were talking about high topics hard to understand… and even though, I feel like home, or rather, I feel like I finally found a place I can call home.
I’m not scared of waking up from any dream anymore, since my reality has turned into the most unbelievable fantasy. There’s no need to hide myself in the forgotten lore or find shelter in the ancestral wisdom, I just read my old writings over and over again instead, feeling proud of each step that brough me to my redemption.I’m not afraid of coming back from university after being sunk in the traditions of the 18th century, since there are two people waiting for me at home, two people that I’d dare to call my family.
When my keys turn in the lock she gets out of her room and listens patiently to the new anecdotes that happened along the day. Sometimes she corrects my exercises and makes me understand my grammatical mistakes, just the way a mother would with her daughter. She cares about my chaotic feeding and slight illnesses grown in the cold autumn, willing to offer any kind of help whenever I’ve needed. Her mother role finishes when she lights a cigarette on my window and the conversations jump from the funniest trifles to the flow of sensations hidden in a dreadful hollow of morality. In spite of the different circumstances that each of us have had to live, the lack of a common language and the few months that we’ve shared; sometimes I feel the reflection of my own soul uttered in her words. I close my eyes and listen to her stories while I can recall fragments of my past in her thoughts.
What could I say about the grey-eyed boy? I owe him the hugest part of my salvation. Just when I had lost all hope of embracing the happiness, when I realised that I had spent four years with someone I never really got to know, when I had refused any kind of feeling close to love, when I had accepted that I could never sit around the fireplace with someone without muttering any word and letting the silence speak…
The little girl I was dreamt of living in a huge mansion and getting married with a known doctor or an intelligent scientist. He wouldn’t build bridges or save human lives, for it is his humility what made me set an eye on him; his rebelliousness against all what society expects from him, his high sensibility for beauty and art, his past which met the same sort of trouble that took place in my old life, and the reliability coming from his words. It’s hard to believe that even when we’ve shared a few weeks he can impressively read what goes through my mind and find out what my quivering face shows. I just feel I’ve finally found the shelter I’ve for so many years been looking for.
He admires my total dedication to my work and my passion for literature; which represents the highest contrast with my former life, a life that I spend with someone who everytime I tried to show my writings to, gave me scorful disdains as an answer. According to him, my task were nonsense and useless, since it only contributed to slow down the scientific progress. He loathed my being inmersed in my books for hours, due to the fact that he thought that my never-ending world of ink and paper was far beyond my interest for him. By the way, he was right. I did never let him touching my sacred empire of fantasy nor coming between me and my unstoppable task of building my dreams one by one. My illusions would never be put behind any other goal; although I regard the possibility of feeding them next to someone else. Quoting the lore in “like father, like son” I consider any further information about this issue unnecessary.
Known is the french philosopher Rousseau by his quote “l’homme est bon, c’est la société qui le corrompt”. In my case his theory goes in reverse. Once I was far enough I healed the parasited demons that were stirring up from the inside, which had slowly turned me into a merciless Nemesis, I started stripping me of all that old inherent selfishness, and even when I still keep my feet on safe grounds I don’t lose the sight of the blueish hue in the sky for a single second. I feel like screaming, crying of joy, drawing a permanent smile on my face, uttering nice words, and trying to bring happiness to all those who surround me and who had bet everything on me; from the ones I’ve lately met til the old friendship I still keep with the one who now a days shares my tears of fullfilment.
This has been my motto since I was old enough to discern right from wrong; finding beauty where it seems to be lacking, and keeping on exploring the confines of an endless realm whose threshold he shown. Specially in this month of dreadful remembrances, in this day of foggy memories, I cast my eyes on the darkened night and my soul whispers in the air, travelling across a zillion stars to reach him. Because I know for sure that he wakes up from his everlasting rest everytime I throw up my hasty words over the empty scrolls, everytime I drop a trembling tear when gazing at the depths of the abyss, everytime I close my eyes and Morpheus takes me to Arcadia to see him again. Even when I’ve already realised that I would never get half the brightness he did or delight the world with the flow of sensations he shed, I know that he looks at me from somewhere, and wherever he is, he’s proud of me for keeping his passion real, his dream, that no one else but you could have better settled: “Don’t let anyone stealing your sensibility and talent for finding beauty in simple things, don’t let anyone despising your untamed heart and rebelliousness, or else your entire existence could be ruined.”
From the inward of my heart
Lots of love from your daughter,
Whose only proud feeling of her past life is the family in which she was born.
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