Tag Archives: inspiration

Who am I, after all ?

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A question I’ve had to answer for my psychology class and one that I probably shouldn’t answer myself. I don’t know who I am, not really, not yet. 

I am maybe a sum. The sum of all things I love and hate, the sum of the songs I find myself into, of the books I’ve worshipped and the paintings that moved me to tears. A sum of all the people I’ve ever met and whose traits I’ve tried to borrow, or, quite on the contrary, I’ve been mocking merciless. A sum of all the friends I’ve chosen and who stayed, but also the sum of my parents. Yes, I am mostly the sum of my parents: shy, but always determined in my actions, as dreamy as persevering, rational yet always wishful. I am a sum of the decisions I keep on taking, ever since I’ve had the power to choose and up until this day, of the opportunities I’ve had and of my luck, a sum of my destiny’s favours. A sum of the wishes that drive me, of my dreams and of my ambition, which I need to keep on growing. None of all these defines me more or less than the other. I am one ordinary human, but unique in my own way. Unique, just like everyone else.

Maybe I am a huge contradiction. A contradiction between the stars, to which I will always aspire and the earth that I am bound to. Between the optimism that characterises me and the pessimism that takes me by surprise sometimes, between the wish to fast-forward my life and catch up on all the good that I hope to find in the future and the lingering nostalgia of past memories. An infinite contradiction  between right and left, that doesn’t define only me, but rather all of us: between my mind, my thoughts, that scream at me to make sense of what I feel and my spirit, who whispers softly to stop analysing life; and who usually whispers louder than any scream.

The only thing that I am sure of is that I am always-changing: a mirror’s reflection for the strangers, who pass me by on the sidewalk; a quiet girl for those, who watch me from afar, with no intention to befriend me; a loving mother to my little puppy; the most special, beautiful and intelligent daughter they could’ve wished for to my parents; a quirky girl yet always ready to sacrifice herself for her friends. Who am I to me? I am all this girls, all these adjectives, all these words put together and bound with the thoughts that flow each second through my mind, never stopping.

I am someone. But I still need a little more time to define who this someone really is. I just need a lifetime. 

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Letter to a friend’s friend

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Dear friend of a friend,

you probably don’t recall this, but I do. We’ve had a little chat a while ago. While you probably went home right afterwards with your earplugs in your ears and your mind far away, I didn’t forget the things you’ve said. I didn’t  because in a matter of minutes you messed up all my principles and you took everything I believe in and mocked it with a dumb smile on your face. So I had to rethink my attitude a bit, worried that I might have been wrong all my life. Thinking that I was a fool. You looked at me, no doubt, as one looks at a naive child, who still has to learn about this cruel, cruel world he is about to step in.

You took all my friends and generalised. I hate generalisations. How dare you say everyone is bad at their chore? Oh, that’s not what you meant? You called me inferior, even if you talked it smoothly, with your foreign expressions, but, no worries, the mocking glance looks the same on everyone’s face, no matter how ‘well-bred’ they are. I don’t know what you read when you were little, I don’t know what you believe in, I don’t know what keeps you moving through your life and I don’t know about the things you dream at night. But now, you’ve made me curious, because whatever it is, I never want to have any of that. I will refuse to believe, no matter how old I will get and regardless of the tears that will try to drown me, I will refuse to believe even for one second that this world is, in its chore bad. I can’t believe. I refuse to look cynical at everyone I encounter, only because they might look at me the same way. I will defend to death the beauty of my world, because I fell in love with it before I even got here. Don’t you tell me people are perverse, because I will throw in your face a thousand struggling kids, good kids, who still get flowers for their mothers and a thousand artists, who still get inspired, every day, by the beauty of it all. I will point out for you thousands of people who stay together, every day, only because they got addicted to each other’s smiles. Don’t you tell me you’re nothing without a plan at twenty. Twenty is the age of no plans, didn’t they tell you that? Twenty is the age for love and laughs and learning, yes, but they don’t work separately, my friend’s friend. Don’t you tell me my friends will laugh at me behind my back, because you know nothing about them. What do you know about our sleepless nights and long hours discussing the stars? I bet there’s no place in your timetable for magic and what a shame that is. You have so much time to be cynical. You have so much time to be bitter, don’t waste your twenties. Don’t spend your precious time judging everyone around you, because you’ll waste it. And then, no wonder you haven’t got a second in your day to admire a flower or read a beautiful quote or merely think about how something made you feel.

You live so fast. You tried to convince me I am a majority, when I already know I’m not. You tried to convince me that the nights I spend dancing and laughing are going to damage me, but you had lost me before finishing that foolish idea, because I was already remembering that beautiful night that turned too quickly to daylight. You even tried to take my books and convince me that knowing statistics is far more useful, but by then I was already thinking that a story waits me at home, that my characters are waiting for me to define their journey.

So, my friend’s friend, the next time we meet, let’s just agree to disagree. If you want to keep your black and white perspective, by all means do, but don’t share your glasses with me, because I don’t need them. I don’t need your negativity, because my mother put flowers in my hair when I was a little girl and I’ve felt like a princess over a beautifully coloured world ever since. Call me an optimist with that dumb smile of yours and you’ll make me the biggest compliment. I won’t waste any of my time being cynical. You do that and let me be the irrational one. Let me feel too deep, let me experience more happiness and more pain than you’ll ever know. I take that, I take it with all my heart.

 

 

P.S. Next time, you should spend more time looking at the beautiful girls that were passing by, rather than argue with me. Or is that only the habit of ‘disgusting perverts’? I wouldn’t know, I’ve never denied myself the presence of beauty.