Third page V

 

A new today. Same worries. Why did I get those loans? Why did I move to an apartment I can’t afford? Now that I’m putting it in perspective,  it sort of makes no sense. If I knew I wouldn’t, then why I did it, right? There it is: did I know it? Did I really know it? Now it is popping up: we never knew it! We have a sense of knowing it and, by that sense, we have taken most of the chances we now have to pay for. I’m just catching my consciousness: we figure a landscape we see as future, and since we are the painters, we hold every single brush we are going to need; then time goes by and we don’t see any painting. The switch between tangible and figurative is in our head. Our mind simply decides what to believe. I just thought it tangible. As a matter of fact, I replaced If with When, and when never got to exist because, as long as something is conditioned; subjected to, time is relative, and relativeness in time could take a whole life. Now such whole is empty, like a true hole, a void. An existential void we better overcome for our children. Let’s get delusional a little: we feel this whole out of the abstraction, and, perhaps emptiness out of these small concretes we’ve been picking as problems. If we assume that it is so, problems are just part of the big abstract, therefore our being should not be defined by those picks. Let’s call them picks from now on. Evening is coming. A bottle of wine is waiting at home. I’m not working right now. I’m just waiting for someone to go home. No wine yet. I don’t know why my mind is so tired. It’s raining.  Maybe that’s why I haven’t been able to sit on the balcony.  Contemplation is important for thoughts.  I need some music. Not too dark. Not too early either. A new day to wonder. I pushed myself to spend a few unnecessary minutes scrolling on the screen. I guess it’s because of the need to it. How could I help someone if I can’t even refrain from it. I need to read more about it. Meanwhile, wine awaits. Perhaps today paints better but it’s not. Not at all. Here I am, trying to serve a few words holding a glass of Cabernet. Sunrise at last. No work today and I’m worried already but, since I can’t do anything about it,  I’m going to watch the view for the first time again since some ago. It's curious that when reread oneself, days are mixed in the same paragraph. This one is an example.  It adds a bit of neurosis to the statement,  it kind of makes  narrative look like someone who wants a cigarettes so bad but there isn’t any around. The point is, if that is actually how this is perceived,  then this tale going somewhere despite of everything. 

 

I have to take advantage of this moment.  I never have this chance but I really need to get indoors and go to the bathroom, unfortunately.  I’m sure, or at least I want to believe, that I’m not alone when it comes to tell moments like these. There’s always something we have to cut out of the sudden. Including scrolling,  and yes, it is ironic. An uncommon afternoon for contemplation. Worries come and go. I feel like I want to get something to drink but I haven’t made up my mind. For some reason I totally ignore, it seems like I need a sort of approval for everyone here at home, but wait, don’t get the wrong idea, I just don’t want to go out, knowing I may have something else to bring. So here I am, waiting, waiting to ask while thinking about writing. I want to let go something but I’m not sure what it could be. I saw a person at the supermarket. I went to the supermarket yesterday and I, I met a woman, that woman was from the same country I am. It was an interesting encounter because she told me that there was a Venezuelan community near by. I felt like: why? I mean, yes, it's good to know people from your same country, because we can share impressions since we have the same culture. It would be good, it would be fine, it would be… it would make you feel better but, it doesn’t mean that we are going to become friends instantly,  and that is the thing that I want to talk about; that’s what I want to put here in words: we are a very new community, so we have never done this before. Moving out is not in our culture. I’ve said it more than once. I’ve written about it more than once, the fact that we are a new community of immigrants, pushes us – or so we think – to  be like the rest of the communities, and we don’t have to push ourselves to it. I mean, other communities are better organized because they have been doing it for years; for a long time. We might just learn our own process, but this need to keep up grows strong, so strong, that we feel the impulse to compete like this were some sort finals and like there were a price we must win at any cost. No. I don’t think so. I acknowledge the effort but it is a bit rushed.  Time will tell. It is a slow process: another long-term endeavor. And my guess is that, again, this rush could be due to social media: you see, we look ourselves into any mirror, and that reflect we see, despite of any depression, anger, low self esteem, shyness, megalomania,  anything,  despite of anything we see, it's less ugly, or more beautiful; depending on the case, version of ourselves, and that perception fuels somehow our soul, so we keep going, or at least feel like doing it, the problem is when that perception starts facing the outside. It tends to fade in many cases. A way to keep it could be through a plan, a long-term endeavor. And there is our struggle: the now versus the later, the already versus the yet, the present continuous versus the future simple. The screen scrolling  versus the page turning. Where to be at? How often to be on? Which one shall we choose? I choose wine. 

Third page IV

 

An indoors contemplation.  No balcony today. Unappreciated comes to my mind. What is appreciation anyway? Until what point do we expect appreciation when we do something? Is it something we start expecting or is it expected when we start  something? I wonder because I would like to point out, if possible,  what could it be when you stop doing something out of your own personal motivation, rather than for external appreciation, or acknowledgement purposes.  Can we? Or is it all implied? I woke up thinking about it, but moreover; I woke up trying to leave it written in English words. I’m trying here: a guy goes to work. Let’s say he’s not the smartest kind. Actually he has – I could tell – this sort of thing I want to call Lack of attention. The guy seems he can’t focus, so he makes a lot of mistakes while doing his job, which is pick a certain number of packages by request and drop them on a belt for shipping. There was a jam on the belt. It was not his fault. We tend to have some predisposition towards him because he miscounts too often, but with the jam I can say it was not on him. He got hurt in the attempt of clearing it. He got hurt because he tried hard. Where shall we meet appreciation here? Shall his boss acknowledge of his effort? Did he actually do it pursuing such a thing? I wonder. I’m wondering about it. I want to say that what happened to him meant something… to anyone,  or anything, but it didn’t. If we take his case as an example, his effort was not in search of recognition.  He just felt like he could, maybe, that he had to, and if someone appreciated it, that was by chance, not as an acknowledgement of his attempt. In conclusion; appreciation comes out of chance. Prove me wrong! Let’s bring another word: resentment.  Are we resentful? It comes and go, to be honest. Of course,  I’m taking about myself. It comes from time to time because it’s hard to unlearn values you were taught since childhood and for long periods as well. I am too immersed in believing that merit is something we deserve by nature, and that it is actually derived from our efforts. That’s my culture talking. Even now that I know it was made up by politicians of my region, but still, it’s a bad habit,  like smoking, like finding cheap dopamine on my cell phone. I can’t help it. I think I deserve better. Sorry but not sorry!

 

It feels weird not to be working right now. It’s Sunday afternoon, why would I? Because of the bills. Yes, the bills… and the loans! Guilt is something special but why do I feel guilty? I’m supposed to feel relaxed. I’m trying. Actually I’m holding a glass of wine and seeing if the truth of the enlightenment comes in through a sip. You know: in vino veritas. But so far nothing has arrived yet. And after a while, the only thing that has come is the perception.  The perception is, according to something I’ve read,  a projection our eyes take to our brain, so this one can give it a meaning. Therefore what we see may not be exactly the same thing in each head, and that is because, let’s say,  the way we interpret is unique. Unless,  of course, we were one of those into social media, which means zero discernment, and with that being said, written in this case, we may have an idea of where social media is heading us, and what we might be at the end of this story. What’s your story about anyway? Do we have a story in the first place? Of course we do. Is it important? It might be to some, and those some could see us, so let’s be seen through words and be read instead. We would become words, and words can be used in any message. We’ll be messages at the end of any attempt.  Let’s be one of hope, of faith,  and not one that fades into smoke. Let’s be hard to drag but nice to digest. Let’s be more like a dessert. Why? We must be what we want to be. Are we sure of that? Not me. But wine made its work and now I need to sleep. 

 

A new week. Dark still. Machine noise-like. Some air conditioning,  perhaps.  I can’t see the words I’m writing.  It might be the stress. There’s always something failing. Who might we be giving our energy? Our vitality? Someone must get fed on it. We get tired for those people. A life full of must and shouldn’t definitely has to be out of someone else’s need and such need… on us. I want to go to bed, for an hour at least but I have to go back to work. I’m back to my old job, by the way. I just miss the music but for the rest of the things, I’m better here now. I have another job: typical. I belong – not sure if proudly, but I do, I am one of those – to this sort of group of men, who were raised with this belief, that man should do what he must because he’s a man. A sort of burden-carrier-type with no complaints, and only silence and hard work. Am I comfortable at it? Hardly ever. Am I going to change? Not likely.  Writing is pretty much my therapy. I’m trying. I’ve said it before. The thing is that, giving the nature of my being, I have a second job. It’s not hard at all. If I place anything against it, it would be just drama for this comedy. What I want to say is that I am poorly rated at that job, and I think it affects my chances for getting good deals. I do deliveries. The other bad thing is having less time to spend with my son. It is what it is, people say here. I always try to find some minutes to hold him, to tell him that I love him. To let him know he is my world. And someday soon, I expect to find much more time to be with him. I cry of joy when he  laughs. I know what being in love really is because of him. Dark again in the balcony.  A car passes by and some other apartment’s engine has just turned on.  The beginning of a song led by the garbage compactor. The sound I make with every sip of coffee add some too, probably. No butterflies. Break time. A few voices kind of like a bass line. I’m sitting with two fellow countrymen as these words are taking place. I can tell one of them wants to talk. I can see him looking at me but he stays quiet and go back to his phone, pretty often, but not for long. That’s how we are nowadays: choosing worlds; in or out of the screen. I’m on the screen now right after finishing my second job. Again, not a good day. I already wrote a little bit about it, but it came to my mind again: burden-carrier-type… what should I do? How could I embrace it? I’m not making enough on my own, so what am I supposed to do? Now I’m just complaining but tomorrow it will be a new day and due dates are coming: they don’t ask how am I doing. They just come and take whatever we’ve worked hard for, including  the metaphorically speaking: plans, dreams, peace, will; mostly will.