LOST IN REVERIE
The Cult News| October 2014
At
8:15, the alarm woke me up and a gleam of light touched my cheek. The alarm song that I had set up to wake
me up every day was "Here Comes the Sun." That song had a special
meaning for me. Every time I would wake up by its tune, it would remind me that
either my hands or my feet don't have a purpose if I stay in bed. That particular day I looked around my
room and noticed everything was quiet and cold. However, I resisted the seductive warm of my
sheets and headed out at once. My body rushed and my hands fixed my
hair to a messy-bun look, and then I went out for a walk.
As
usual, he was reading the newspaper in the balcony and she was watching out the
pass of time through the lattice window. The neighborhood seemed like a market
of old but energetic people; people like those who love habits and routines.
When I arrived to the park, I couldn’t help thinking about those moments when
simple acts turn into a cycle that consumes us, like the habit of making
decisions. Some are automated choices and some others are way more complex.
This reminded me that I’ve been always a wishy-washy person. I have issues
trying to make up my mind and coming out with the right end. The idea about
decisions turning into a one-way plan have tortured me in different chapters in
book of life:
¾
Coffee or tea?
¾ Novels or poems? Maybe, short stories?
¾
Iceland or Argentine
Patagonia?
Sometimes
I worry about trivial matters, but the frustration increases when I have to
make big choices related to my future. I thought that choosing the right
major and university were the most important to-do in order to have the right
job, but what happens when a cycle comes to an end and you have nothing but
dreams? No job, no master programs, only dreams.
There
was I having trouble picking out a bench in the park. I sat on the grass and
discovered it was wet. There was also a dog exploring the outdoors, and I
trying to do the same with a busy mind and an exhausted body. I kept
daydreaming and playing with a stick, when someone came close to my direction. A pregnant woman with short gray hair
approached the bench that was in front of me. She was wearing a nice flower dress and
a black hat. She sat under a tree, stared at me and started writing. It was
intimidating, but the fear of talking to strangers didn’t stop me from
beginning the talk. I wanted to know her fictions, and she was willing to share
them with me.
¾ So glad you came to say hi —she said with
a peaceful tone of voice as if she knew me— I was going to start writing about
you. I rather not knowing your name. It would ruin our conversation, don’t you
think?
¾ You are right. Who are you? I have never
seen you around.
¾
I
can be an eager traveler who wants to breath in the world and hold it the longest possible or I can be just a lady who comes with
her journal to straighten herself up and compensate her confusion through the appreciation of nature and
fiction stories. Which one would you
rather me to be?
¾
I
think you could be both. That can make you even more interesting. What were you going to write about me?
¾
I
was going to write about the girl I saw sitting right there playing with a
stick in the dust, not about you, sweetheart. You just changed my perspective…
—she said with a gentle smile— well dear, I don’t want to be rude; I’ll
introduce myself. I’m a writer who travels in order to collect stories from
people around the world and give sense to others’ lives with what I own. That
is the reason why I consider myself a giver. I love giving others whatever I
can, like blood, love, words… whatever that makes them feel satisfied. I had
lived in the land of ice and brought warm in the hearts of those who felt
meaningless. I had lived in the land of fire and gave water to the thirsty.
I’ve learned to live with joy in times of abundance and poverty. I’ve learned
that greatness are not the things we do or we have; greatness is shaped by an
almighty hand that has the purpose of creating a humble heart. I’ve been in
different parts of the world and I’ve seen many faces, and I have realized that
there’s nothing more deceiving than the human heart. You just know it when…
¾ Mommy, look at this caterpillar —a
soft gentle voice interrupted her monologue
¾ There you are —she looked at her with a
huge smile and then she talked to me— so glad I had the chance to talk to you.
Hopefully, I’ll see you someday. I’m eager to hear your story.
She left singing “Here Comes the Sun” and
I just felt my soul rest lighter. Everything was back to normal pace. I hastily
turned around and switched the alarm off. It was late and I had to start
getting ready for my graduation. The stuff in my room was in place, except for
my dress that has slipped off its hanger.
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