Wednesday, December 28, 2016

366 days: retrospection

     2016 in retrospect? Three words: restlessness, pain, risks.

     I remember: the New Year’s Eve and promises of I will return home and wait for me or I haven’t met anyone who deserves as much as you deserve, I recall my own frustrations and anxieties, I remember that I felt I decay, but I also remember the people who have held and dragged me after them until I healed.

     January was about theatre, affection and loved ones, but also about mistakes. February meant interviews, different kind of promises, and the inspiration I got from beautiful people and.. a respite. March brought unexpected encounters and the loveliest meet-ups. April came up with the excitement for zero waste lifestyle, compliments and laughter. From May I fondly recall the marathon, the yoga day and the first trip on my own to the Netherlands. 

Friday, December 16, 2016


     During a philosophy class (the only subject in all these years of high school that I would pleasantly attend), it came up in the discussion a writer who condemned the philosophers for "abstaining from life", for hiding in their ivory tower, for their refusal to comply to any profoundly human essences and for the fact that they lack tragedy, this tragedy typical to life. However, it seemed outrageously to me that the writer was himself a respected philosopher who lived more than 80 years.

     That, however, made me think. Not his disguised hypocrisy, but the topic he talked about: whether it is desirably to live a happy, long life, a quiet one, away from each torment specific to the human soul or to live a short one, so close to reaching insanity and delirium, bringing the exacerbation in every tedious part of life, at the risk of something cracking within you every moment. I could not let this idea fly by without any debate.  Below, some of the arguments.

Infinite above, limited around

     We are damned to live in a world with no answers, while we constantly have to face questions - apparently walls on the road to happiness, apparently always conditioned by subjectivism. However, the exuberance of this wretched hunt’s end never comes and no, it is not even expected. We designed some gods above us, action born from the impossibility (or from our inability?) to find an answer that at least scarcely resemble the truth.
Henrik Aarrestad Uldalen - Detach
     Thus, those gods become, with the aid of the prophets who have created them, the ultimate truth, the answer at the end of which there is no dot, but an exclamation mark. All that they preach is annoyingly incessant exclamation: the infinite is not for you, it only for our gods, all you have to do is to obey to the most significant commandment: we are doomed to finitude and thus we shall remain - the slaves of some entities we projected outside ourselves.

On self-illusion

     What we believe about ourselves is almost never what we actually are and, unfortunately, we find ourselves as duplicates of the opinions of those around or as refractions of the society through broken prism. We define ourselves by frivolous layers of our soul’s epidermis, by broken words, by small dreams, minimizing everything we could, in fact, truly become. Reflections of the outer world on our inner self are the venom getting to infect our entire being, and the inability to relinquish them appears as a fatality. 

     Everything is like a jungle: the struggle for survival, the strong versus the weak, the lianas among which our thoughts get stuck and we hang upside down, the frightened cries of abandoned beliefs.But what is beyond the jungle? What is beyond each fallen Bastille of the spirit
Maira Gall