Este Invierno
This winter is a little bit colder than usual.
Or so it seems.
What's more unusual is that I actually got to see snow before Christmas. It wasn't November yet when the first snow came off from the sky. I mean, getting lots of precipitation is common in where I live, but when the rain drop turns into snowflake, it becomes quite peculiar, as if the season suddenly puts on a mask, giving a different stage play.
And it freaks people out. School is closed, traffic is in chaos, and I am forced to stay in. The bone-rattling wind paralyzes the nerve connecting the inner and outer world. And I am left, to my own device, into a state of meditation.
We all know seasons alternate. Winter follows the summer, and spring comes after winter. From the chills of air, people endure, then begin to imagine the future, the good times to come in the spring. I guess this applies to us all: when the hardship becomes too great or too painful, we seek something consoling, whether it physically exists or is merely born from a wish. Self-disciplined fellows call this self-escape, but it's actually difficult to live on without doing so. When there is no one around, when everything turns its back on you, when you are deserted by all, you can't stop the invasion of despair. It becomes something intangible, sinking into your skin little by little, and in the end, occupying your entire consciousness. If there is no internal motivation to fend it off, then there is really no escape. People are born with the ability to dream, and in dreams we create a separate reality. It's perhaps truthful to disregard the dreams most of the time, but we do receive something value when our mind isn't being manipulated by the outside world. For example, we perceive something palpable in dreams, whereas in reality it may be only an abstract concept. We see what's there instead of what we think it is. In other words, dreams allow no lies.
But a dream dies when we wake up. There has been so many mornings I open my eyes with a cloggy mind, still having one foot in the dreamy realm. But after a while, the dream dissipates into nothingness, and reality gushes in. There's not a second entrance back to the dream last night. Sometimes I try to continue where I've been left off, but soon it feels foolish to weave a lie that can't even convince myself. In dreams you can be in a life-threatening situation, or even have yourself decapitated, but your consciousness forbids such a possibility. When you direct a play, there can be no surprise.
In this cold, I feel I'm even farther away from what I'm seeking. The ice makes the road slippery, and even a small step requires careful balance. I need to reserve 10 more minutes than usual to make it to the bus, and 20 more to get to work in time. But towards you, I don't know how much I must start ahead, since I never did reach you even once.
It's interesting how things are related to each other. Sometimes it goes against the intuition too, like how you try to distance two things, but they get attracted to each other in some other ways. Also, some things are only connected one-way; this might be moving to that, but that might be moving to something over there. These motions don't reciprocate, which makes the big picture more interesting.
I know right now, you're looking through the frozen window, thinking about him far away, and can't stop feeling out of place and left alone. And I understand that, because I feel the same way. Everyone has dreams, and some of them simply cannot be fulfilled. To me, you are one of those fairy tales. But it's fine if I don't ever reach there, because fairy tales are not permitted to exist in this reality. Remember what I said about perfection? It's just another name of emptiness, but it does entice us to climb higher and purify ourselves along the way. Your presence reminds me of the fact that I still have a lot of growing up to do, and I'm simply not at the same level as you. But it's all right, that alone is a good reason that it's nice to have you here, and I thank God for making it happen.
Tonight, I am sitting beside a fireplace, staring at the dim road light outside, and thinking about you and me. Really there's nothing to think about, but that's what makes thinking interesting despite its uselessness. Maybe you are doing the same thing, maybe you are also thinking about the blossom of flowers in a couple of months, maybe you are also making a blueprint of the happiness ahead. I suddenly feels an urge to look back, all those moments of sour and sweet, like opening a wrinkled chronicle dyed with the color of age. Once I said to myself, there were disastrous decisions in the past, and I regret it very much. But if I'm given a chance to relive those times, I would make the same decision. I had a reason when I chose my path, and that's all I need to prevent myself from falling into an abyss of self-deprecation. That's why I never felt sorry to have known you, because you meant, and still mean a lot to me.
I hate it to say "see you tomorrow", because I want to be with you right here, right now. But all that aside, let us pray to God for giving us this moment, in silence, to think about what we did and what we will do.