Reality Check

"We have all sufficient strength to support the pain of others."

-La Rouchefoucauld

(¡Ay, sí! la amiga ya sabe usar epígrafes pa echarle salsa al peritexto).

Nah, but seriously though, that quote has changed my entire view on life, and on the way we should all treat each other. But have we? HAVE WE? It certainly does not seem so at times, but then again, I'm slowly and increasingly learning to push my own limits a little further (since I've given up on being a sports-doer, might as well challenge myself in other aspects). And surprisingly enough, I'm finding out that I am capable of coping with more, and more stuff than before (by changing my attitude towards all that in which I'm investing my efforts). So there is potential flexibility to our psychological-endurance-muscle (in evolutionary terms, that makes all the sense in the world, since we need to adapt to ever-changing contexts). So I reckon if I can work on it, so can anybody else, right? I just need to find a way to start convincing other people to (at least try to) do the same (that's why I had come up with the idea of writing children's books in the first place).

But the thing is we're just too lazy, and that's the main problem. As I see it: we're capable of so many things, but we just choose the easiest way out of the trial, out of the danger zone, ALWAYS. We seek comfort as a life goal, and that's where we're messing it up.

I have had to make some fairly difficult decisions recently in terms of easing up certain frictions/tensions among our group of friends: and I've come close enough to lick the fact that it's really hard to manage escaping the bad in each other, since we're seeing each other DAILY, AND FOREVER. We almost hold hands when hitting the loo, which makes it harder for everyone (not in a literal sense, although that's a funny thing to imagine) to look each other in the face each morning, after having heard everything going about during nighttime inside every single bedroom in the household. The NOISE, or lack thereof, makes culture clash bludgeon your eardrums with an ice pick... *Pueblo Chico: Infierno Grande*

I woke up this morning thinking to myself: "these little details keep piercing the entire universe of my soul". Maybe that's how constellations are born; I had imagined this balloon-like fabric being torn off with a nail (Lucio Fontana-like, peeling off the canvas), and I suddenly realised how I miss being able to think in the way we were showed we could (as a life mode) in art school. That's why I'm writing this, actually, today; I took the book one of my best friends gave me as a farewell present just before starting this new life, opened it up randomly, read, and remembered how much I can relate myself to Susan Sontag; the way she felt about people, about sex, about books, about love, about interpretations, about frustration in life, about gender ambiguity... etc. It all made sense to me: we're never meant to fit in this fucked up little world, it's too artificial and immersed in its own artificiality. Sometimes it's hard to even talk about the most banal of things to a random stranger. I miss that. I miss staring at the ceiling with my best friends and listening to colorfully pungent music while hugging each other and falling asleep tangled up in ourselves; because there's not a thing in the world that can bother us while we're there, basking in our own unfolded, honest, vulnerable, and beautifully imperfect selfness. And it's not about satisfying our carnal impulses in a bit, and anybody can say whatever the hell they want because we understand each other perfectly... We conceive each other as complex beings, and have come to accept that. 

But then again it's because we belong to the same fucking class in the same social stratum, in the same fucking culture, also because we share the same intellectual upbringing, and that brings me down a little (ha).

How can anyone relate to anybody else? I hear about my friends' pains and it pains me as well, but I never feel I truly understand other people, especially when they're being strange... flirtatious, obnoxious, fake.

I suddenly wish everybody could be honest, for a day, not in an uncontrolled way or anything, but that people should be open about how they feel towards each other, sort of by fracturing the Ego (yes, we're studying Freud now), in order to let the Id express itself not necessarily in order to get what it wants, but sort of as a Joyce-like narrative insight into the other person's mind. That would be nice, but it would also take a lot of courage (the kind people aren't always willing to exert). I like telling others exactly what's on my mind, and they think it's because I'm high or too jumpy... that makes me sad, but the day is sad in itself.

We need crappy weekends sometimes, in order to better realise when the leaves turn a little greener, just before 5:30 in the afternoon, against an overcast sky; that's when you get the best light of the day. And the broken flower in the flower pot that's leaning against the window pane inside the kitchen, under that latent gaze of a warier sun, is my favourite of them all.