There is always someone somewhere discovering the other life, the other self, stepping off into uncharted territory.  Yet, in the midst of knowing this, I also know that I am so small, so ordinary, and do have limited time on my hands to be able to envision the majority of the world.  My view, like yours and his,  is limited, framed by my own personal experiences, sometimes extremely relatable to some, and other times utterly incomprehensible for others. 

It became quite apparent in the past months that people are willing to accept the pain and suffering of others, limitless amounts of it, as long as it helps them to keep on believing in whatever it is that they want to believe.  This significantly insignificant realisation pulled a string deep inside of me; I can’t identify or even attempt to explain for the life of me.  Yet, that pull changed everything. 

I know that in the end, I am another being that cannot escape the utter ordinaries of my own existence.  I know that nothing lasts forever, that life itself has an expiration date; I think most of us are painfully aware of it.  Yet, all of us still find time to laugh and cry, get upset over things and break things apart.  We try to hold on to ideas, people, and feelings that we know no longer make sense to us and no longer have significance in the given moments.  We try to hold on to the residue of the past; almost if we manage to preserve even a tiny bit of it, our existence in this world will gain some sort of significance.

Some stories are meant to end, and sometimes they are bound not to have a clear ending. We have to be ready to leave them behind. This summer brought a lot of endings in my life; how funny if I had not forced myself to face it, I wonder how long I would have been bound to an invisible string of ‘what ifs’ and ‘some day.’

The thing is that sometimes we do not act on something we want to act upon. There might be various reasons for it. Sometimes it is fear of being misunderstood; sometimes, we do not want to make others feel uncomfortable around us, especially if we do not have well-visible clearings to do so. Sometimes we choose to let go of those people or those stories; sometimes, we do not dare to reach out to people we know very little about. It is okay, though. For a story to be written, at least one person has to overcome that boundary of fear. In certain circumstances, we will be that figure; sometimes, we will wait for somebody else to hold a hand to us and navigate the fear of the unknown plains

I have one more story to let go of, a story that, on a long train ride, left a strange imprint on me. I did not act upon it not because I didn’t want to but because circumstances played a significant part in setting boundaries and walls between something so pure and simple. It is scary to untie this knot, as it is the last one, and all the others somehow untied themselves in front of my eyes and freed me from attachment. This one is different; it has no usual borders. That means I must let go of the story without a clear resolution to step into the uncharted territory I long for. Truthfully, I am at the border, and at any given moment, I will be on the other side, free and ready for new horizons, no more hidding in the blind spots of my own creation. 

This world is a contradiction in itself, especially these days, perhaps it has always been like that, yet I did not pay enough attention. In the end, love, love for others, the love I feel towards life itself, is like a kaleidoscope – different from every angle, full of colours and always showing something different depending on the viewpoint and angle the light falls upon your viewfinder…