Dear Life,

for what you have been imposing upon me, this letter is my offering. As an attempt, maybe, to shed light on some of the difficulties on the road that I took and that you opened up to me. The struggle unfolds here in two ways: the first one being articulate enough in finding the courage that would allow me to express with honesty the depth of my feelings; the second the courage to address such feelings. I could start by telling you how much I appreciate your simplicity and the elation I find in that. I could also bring up all the efforts being made by people around me, to show me that there’s a deeper substance to appreciate and recognize that once one opens enough, beauties unravel. Yet, tonight, I struggle to find such a place.

In retrospect, much of my pain and resistance are fed by this position, that is, a fear that nourishes my very existence and my relationship to you. In this fear, I found ample material to be lost in my own abysses, confines in my mind with no light. You charge me with a weight in such a way as to make it seem that I am guilty of not understanding you well, although, I attempted more than once to clarify what I see in you. I could try over and over, as I did, to open to you, and to muster the fortitude to voice up where I’m standing. As usual, I am not able to fully think of any answers, partly for the very reason that I do not know how to fully engage with you. The ground for such incapacity only highlights a need to go deeper, as it brings far more details to my attention.

Me coming to this world presented a challenge in itself, lost in a family where many of us were simply trying to find the space to exist. Yet the house wasn’t big enough, and attention I was given felt short, both in my heart and my mind. Conflicts and frustration grew wider, and they filled a reservoir of pain and agony, in which I lost myself more than once.

All this amounted to a place where my worth as a being only equalled my inability to reclaim for myself my own needs. I carried for a long time the faith that I would be able to cloud the reproaches I had for you, but it has shown as a treacherous way where I was only left on my own device for a long time. From your point of view, my existence should have been meaningful and joyful, abundant and rich. However, I had no contact for most of my existence with such things. I see the conflicts of your own nature: on one hand, I sense – and reach sometimes – places of marvels and contempt, but on the other hand I realize the struggle to reach these places.  I will try to explain in more details my struggles. Here, in the attempt to be open, two seemingly antagonistic elements in my relation to you unite more intensely than anywhere else.

Growing up, I could remember the wrath in the voice of my teachers, and felt the weight of their deception towards me. A brat, unable to function, unable to understand and accept the discipline of the education system. Torn between swimming in indifferences, inadequacies, and misunderstandings left me soaking wet, with the guilt of not belonging anywhere. I would think of you and hope to find support in the sun you would provide, or the beauties of nature, however, I deemed them as mere distractions. Understand that these gifts wouldn’t come close to my needs. Not good in calculus while questioning the meaning of life at such a young age cracked open a gap between you and myself; between my inner world and yours.  Oddly enough, I felt understood when you would allow me to reach for the books I wanted or when you would distract my parents so I could sneak out and look for accuracies in my own judgments. My poor grades only contained me in a space where I had to downplay my voice, and in opinionated words, I found a modicum of respite. Beyond all considerations, and for my teachers to question my future, and for the blame I would take about all that, how could I not see your veiled expression of the fact that something is wrong in our relationship?

Unable to relate to others, unable to get close to some people, and unable to rest were the cards you gave me. Far from me the idea to blame you for that, after all, there is an onus to find the elements that will make me responsible of such a deck, and I am not going to say that I became what I am to this day only as a result of a lack of choices. But I can also be inclined to goose up any of my own epistemology. It is indeed possible for me not to cry while facing all the pain I endured, however, I would probably still need to acknowledge my weaknesses. Absent present, my parents and my friends cast a shadow on my strength, particularly since many of my friends died. I had to bear the brunt of it, and for that, I was much too frail. I struggle sometimes to accept what you have to offer, and the spurs that impel my attention deny many of my intentions. In hindsight, many of the motifs you presented to me contained the same substance: a perfume of frustration for all the people I could not be attached to for various reasons. Sadness and disappointment in myself were the dominant narratives, because I felt a failure in so many areas. In this respect, I have gone through various phases. In any case, I blamed you for that.

I could still see the joy and the happiness in many of my friends; I recall, for instance, that birthday party that I got invited to where I was carrying my own weight of sadness which I didn’t wanted to see occluding all the positive emotions. That grey matter floated and accompanied me for a long time, still does sometimes, yet you seldom offer a counterweight to it. This is odd, and here, I don’t see quite clear either. On a grand scale, I should abide to the nature of any intrinsic powers at play, should that be enough to provide me with the reassurance that I need. But your temperament makes it difficult.

Much of my adolescence developed in a warmth I was indifferent to. You could not give me what I wanted, which led me to challenge you. As an answer, you would simply trample me and nothing was left of me. Much of my struggles were alien to my friends, locked in box of misery and pain. And in saying this, I would all the time ask of you not to forget that I never believed you to be sole responsible for all that. I succumbed to some extent to my own despair.

I wished that I could get a better understanding of you. I am also obstinate, and you spoiled me too by showing me that there are paths and roads that are worth taking. But I want a presence as simple as taking my hand, or a kind word, or a friendly look, more than swings on extremes. How am I to go on searching for such small pleasures until they come to my heart, while I can accept all the resentment that lies beneath the surface? I tried to ask for advice, more than once, yet, only saw as an answer the consequences of traumas and inner harm. What was for me a trivial matter became the nature of my life. I suffered from a lack of consideration, and that nail still hits me to this day. You weighed down by your mere presence, which is, ironically, my own presence to myself. I could try to grasp and compound all the frustration, yet, slight differences will only bring us where such a frustration wouldn’t dare reaching.

Desperation made me frantic, and all my bad experiences shaped the core of my persona. All amounts to the need to find some air while the noose strangles my breath, and while my profound humiliation only casts away my own capacity to exist. I am grateful for the many good moments and for the ones whom kept on demonstrating support, care, love and affection for me. In all these areas, my hopes fitted magnificently. Besides that, I was also proud to show my endurance, patience, and wisdom when needed. Furthermore, all was not bad with you, and I have learned to work my way so far up that a symbiosis was made possible at times. Feelings of falling in love, commitment to personal projects, and friendship opened up some clarity. There wasn’t any shortage of self-confidence, despite belittling judgments, I showed some assurance of character for myself. I built a sense of completeness and permanence in all that. It was, after all, a necessity, if I wanted to feel accepted by you. Courage, love, resolution could not last when you showed me an opposition, and even if it was merely assumed, it had to be assumed in almost everything I did to feel better. This applied to people as well as to my own inner landscape. I feel sorry even while I would let my words fly, as all the attempt to be in a better position with you shows much ado and distress.

Growing up, I slowly learned to appreciate your quietness. I learned to form a judgement of you, through you, for you. Above all, forming a judgement for myself in you. My predilection lies in the gifts you gave me, namely, a capacity to think and reason, as well as a good memory. A capacity to feel strong emotions, albeit challenging sometimes. I found myself in disgrace more than once, either I abided or tried to run away from all that. I was defiant, for how could I presume to see myself and save the world if I couldn’t save myself from myself in the first place? My relationship to you at times became clear. I would only assume that with enough discipline and rightfulness, you would still care for me and allow my endearing expression. My demeanour picked on the importance of loving myself, and the curiosity of that prospect led me to bring up many arguments against the pleasures I want to see in you. This is an eternal battle between what I propose and what you dispose of. Your imperious nature is embedded in the layers of my very own existence. I wanted to do whatever I wanted, more than once, yet, saw the deleterious effect of that. Needless to say, I still carry to this day some of my mistakes. That sense of powerlessness has been substituted by a deep feeling of helplessness in me. What can you do about it?

There is an impossibility between us, and I perceive its ontology in the structures of my own challenges. I can only accept that together we could find a balance between what you throw at me, mad dog barking, and what I would do against all that. For what it entails, I can only become eloquent here yet would leave early stages of a peace long gone. I would stammer and fall over my own hopes to see something meaningful in you, yet what I got from you is a timid silence. Hesitancy goes a long way; perhaps out of defiance you could neither think nor speak to me and I could not open to you. I was not able to be docile and when your power could not reach me, that left the inevitable consequence of me resenting you for what you had to offer.  I could try again to hope and see that special trust I once put in you by means or irony. I could try maybe to push some edges and find some joy and laughter before crawling under my own misery…

Over time, I found the resilience and the patience to accept my predicament. I think that the reason of my willingness to move forward with all that is a need for expansion, past my own suffering. From my point of view, exquisiteness is but a parcel of everything I could ever aspire to. Is reconciliation possible? I have to pursue that hope, if not, I would hardly give myself the time to rest and contemplate the place I am in. More than a game of patience, I need to understand for myself that my relationship to you endures torments and deprivation. All amounts to theological dices loosely thrown at my face.

What I would want from you, after all, is some patience. Understanding maybe. While there is an opportunity for us to be different, it would require a mutual understanding. I see it as a possibility, and I would delight myself with the fruits of such outcome. I cannot really escape from your power, as I would have to escape from myself in the first place. True, I could always get some sense of comfort in my own mind and disengage from what you have to offer. For the many people to love me, my devotion to them is tantamount to my own aspirations. The delicacies that unfold cancels any abhorrence I would have for you, and I can be unsure of any outcome. Distress in profound unhappiness led me to be uncertain of everything. In fact, I possess the will to see change in you, that will, in itself, changes me and the difficulties would transmute as your m.o. pervades my own being and challenges my sanity sometimes. I can be still in the suffering.

To this day, you are still probing me, backed by the intention that your circumstances would give me some rest. It is obvious that I would need more time while parsing through the facts of my existence. I found myself in situation in which the balance was meant to be broken, yet was not able to find a suitable answer to you. In my own judgement, I would carry the weight of my own incapacity to see fusing into dyads my hopes and my desires. In that way, I have lost my own voice. Harmony lies in the interstices of my own passions, yet, as you refuse them to me, I find myself contemplating everything I hoped for. Despite all that, I want to prove to you that I can stand still against what is being taken away from me. Few desires would not last long after you would mute them. I might go on to describe further orbits of your power and influence on me, yet I don’t feel that would be enough to give me the comfort of a bed on which I would lay on my futile desires. Impossible task in the concerns to lose an appetite for you, that brings suffering as a possibility under your influence. I could go on and share endless attempts to understand you, yet, frankly, there are only so many words I can offer.

My scruples knock me down, and your flimsiness is the indifference of a higher meaning. I am blind to any order that escapes my grasp. The whole thing is too big for me to comprehend. I could have an apparent obstinacy and pretend to care. However, what would slip in such a judgement would not lack in acrimony. Enslaved to you, I can only leave the nature of my remorse twist everything I refuted in you. In my own efforts, I could reclaim some peace inside of me. To a certain extent, I can breathe freely. I can sleep and eat, experience some joy here and there; the patience of my delusions and my optimism. Let me bemoan upon you in this present letter, as in real life, few would be enough to understand the complexities in me. It would be more correct to say that I have not found respite in my mind when I try to assert my intellectual and spiritual existence to others. The freedom you gave me drags me down in a state where I am indifferent to any fundamental conviction. From this stance, I have given up long ago. But by virtue of my writing, I would aspire to a form of self-liberation and independence. Such a pledge appears to me as the most acute form of elevation I could ever aspire to.

Vain hopes and false dreams. I’d try again, even if I cannot help but notice that trying to get out of this quandary has a touch of madness about it…