I must have had a bad dream last night and I woke up with an unpleasant and strange mood.
In the silence of the early dawn, while I’m enjoying the first cigarette of the day, I remember part of the dream: someone I know, but I cannot remember who, tells me “your eyes look really tired ... you have really tired eyes ...". Out of the shower, I’m staring at myself in the mirror. Eh, I think, my eyes look really tired…and these big and deep dark circles under them… Maybe it’s because I sleep shortly and badly, recently, and maybe those circles will be there anyway, as a mark, after all the years I spent in excesses. But there is something more: my eyes are tired, they are empty, they do not shine as they should, as they did.
Suddenly, This quote of Sergio Bambarén comes to my mind: “Never miss the special light that lights your eyes and comes directly from your soul. And if it should happen, fight every day to regain it.” (Letter to My Son about Happiness) And shortly thereafter, I do not know by what connections, I think about Martha Medeiros poem “Die slowly”.
To fight to turn that light back into my eyes, to fight to do not die slowly. It seems easy, but often the most obvious solutions are the most difficult to find, even if they are in front of our eyes...
Once I knew how to do it. Once I had the strength, I had the will and the courage. I had experiences to make and strong emotions to find, looking always for the risk and the danger as the only way to feel myself alive. And then, I lived without worrying too much about the future, about the next day, or about the consequences.
Now, instead, I’m thinking about the future. Now, I start to try to find inner peace by accepting the normal and boring everyday life. Now I care too much about the consequences, about what will happen tomorrow. Now I have my obligations towards the society, living according to the set schemes, with a home to pay, a job to keep. Now the quiet daily life kills me slowly, like the agony of the monotonous succession of days, each one equal to the other, though.
And so, I find myself as I've been thrown in this uncomfortable cage, by myself, by the system, by common life. I have overcome the angry youth, and now I just keep going forward, more calm and balanced in decisions and judgments. I have to admit it: I no longer have the strength to break these chains and “fuck off”.
But in my own way, I can’t accept to die slowly, I can’t accept to deal with the agony of everyday life without giving a fight. Little by little, I try to fall in love with my life again, and every day I’m looking for, and looking forward, new things to feel better. Something may happen and something can always be done. Maybe without taking risks or looking for danger. No, just something that lights my flame of living again.
Because young people are struggling to keep it alive. Instead the adults, perhaps, they just protect it with one hand and have a lighter in the other.