I remember the day we sat in the shade of a tree during the PE lesson. At that time, we both bore in our minds countless sophisticated thoughts. When I call them “sophisticated”, I know it’s somewhat pretentious. But I also know that if you were here, you would tell me not to say about our own trouble like that, not to belittle them. Just call them “sophisticated” as I want. Fine, Ch..
You used to tenderly tell me you don’t want to experience any complications in the life, you want the simplicity allowing you to think straight, or even better, not to think much. And how platitudinous is what I answered then: If we refuse to reflect, we shall get to nowhere. For if we ignore our worries, they won’t disappear, they’re just buried, and we will have to encounter them sooner or late. For what I said, I am totally not an insightful or sensitive person like you suppose. I am surely not, I just don’t have the backbone to face the thoughtlessness existing in my brain. I’ve somewhat seen a piece of myself in the old man character in Gabriel Márquez’s book Memories of My Melancholy Whores who considers that:
“I discovered that my obsession for having each thing in the right place, each subject at the right time, each word in the right style, was not the well-deserved reward of an ordered mind but just the opposite: a complete system of pretense invented by me to hide the disorder of my nature. I discovered that I am not disciplined out of virtue but as a reaction to my negligence, that I appear generous in order to conceal my meanness, that I pass myself off as prudent because I am evil-minded, that I am conciliatory in order not to succumb to my repressed rage, that I am punctual only to hide how little I care about other people’s time.”
Though having tried to hide my abscene of consideration, I cannot deny the truth that I’m dying for changing the current status of my life. But how can I do that if I’m overwhelmed with the satisfaction of it most of my time. And a few days ago, you asked me whether it was too late for you to change. In a parallel universe, maybe I would burst into tears while replying to you. But I was not doing it, since there’s no need to dramaticze things.
Woman Taking Tea by Jean-Baptiste
I have died everyday waiting for a whole change like a fixation. But you know what Alain de Botton talks when he talks about his favorite and inspirational artwork Woman Taking Tea painting. He says “we’re deeply ungrateful towards anything that is free or doesn’t cost very much”. I guess sometimes we just sit and enjoy ourselves, because once we change to be more productivity and do not have enough time and toughness to adapt to it, we soon lose our little old ego. Should I call that a fallacy? I just love Alain for something that has consoled me.
We both perceive our fear. A man called it Alazia. I don’t know what he based on to name it, but it is really a beautiful name. For our fear, for the conundrum we’re agonizing over everyday.