(This is the English translation of —Han dicho: Prosas de un Pretérito Perfecto —, an essay that is part of collection of writings and reflections from my youth. These pieces explore my early thoughts, emotions, and observations about the world around me).
It’s been said by some writers/authors that when you don’t know what to write about, you should write about situations or things you know. According to their advice, this is because it’s easier to write about real scenarios than fiction, and create a complete drama from scratch.
And well, when you don’t know what to write about, this might be true. So, I’ve asked myself: what is it something I know? The sky? Is the sky blue?
Maybe I could talk about the sky because, in appearance, I know it. But I can’t tell for sure if the sky is blue, since some people say it’s light blue, and others might say it’s a gradient — but a gradient of what color exactly?
Could it be something subjective, or a fact that someone can claim with certainty? During the day it appears to be one or several colors and their respective gradients, but during the night — is it dark, black, or blue?
Is the sky, with all certainty, of one color? Or is it the reflections of the constellations, and the directions in which they break upon some segment, that cause it to light up in certain colors?
For at sunset I can see that it isn’t blue or light blue either, but that different gradients of reds, oranges, purples, pinks, and the thousands of shades between each of them are reflected.
So, is it really something I could talk about, or not?
Maybe it could be something else entirely subjective.
And just as I can’t speak with certainty about the sky they taught me in school — the one that was supposed to be blue — I don’t think I can speak with certainty about anything else either. And it seems that all people seek firm and solid answers about the world and about everything around them, but how could I? How could they?
If nothing can be fully classified or boxed within a space with limits and edges, can I question it?
Everyone seeks safety, stability, and solid ground that assures them it won’t break — but that’s not going to happen.
I can’t even speak about myself, because even if I believe I know who I am, I’ve come to the conclusion that I also can’t fully know myself as an individual. For I am in a constant transformation and evolution, of becoming something different from what I am now. And in the future, I could be a better or worse fragment of my present self.
How cynical all of this is!
Funny world!
Funny life!
Sweet world that awaits us with so many surprises, leaving us on the edge of an abyss, not knowing what exists in that dark depth of uncertainty; where we can't tell if we’ll fall upon a cloud of cotton candy or upon a bed of thorns that will pierce us to the core.
But perhaps, only by the act of letting go, - falling toward the void - we find out. Maybe it is only then, as the ground rushes to meet us, the wings we didn't know we carried could finally extend to catch us.
Comments ()