Ante was the only guy I ever brought home. The only guy I wanted you to meet. The only guy who was worth it all. Worthy of meeting my Dad – that was the ultimate endeavour. I wasn’t scared or nervous. I felt like I was blessed to have crossed paths with a human like him. I was excited to show you what I saw, to show you how utterly beautiful people can be. I felt lucky too, because he chose to be my rock too. We were inseparable. To me, that was what life is supposed to look like. He was someone I loved unconditionally and who loved me back. Until something changed, but that had zero effect on anything. I still loved him and I’ll love him forever.
Forever
This word “forever”… It never sat right with me. As a writer – someone who loves words, respects their meaning and their weight, I’m not satisfied until I understand what they mean in practice, and until I make sense of them. Until then, those words are empty and deceitful. Call it what you want, but I require proof that they mean what they say and say what they mean – no sugar coating, no alternative interpretations, no clinging to hope that they’re true and real. No abstraction. “Forever” was hard to get a grip on. That’s too long. It’s not realistic. Forever is something we cannot have. It doesn’t exist in terms of time. There’s an end to absolutely everything.
Hope
“Hope” is the second on the list. The trickster. It’s too unstable, too fragile, invisible, betralay-prone. It refuses to offer any gurantee whatsoever. It’s bold in assuming it works, and mean for playing with your mind. We have invented the word for times we have no direction, times we can’t see what’s in front of us, let alone what’s years ahead. It’s purpose is to comfort. All it brings me is anxiety. Promise, I can understand.
Blessed
Counting down to: “Blessed”. How do I know I’m blessed? In what moments does the acknowledgement come? Compared to what? Fucked? In truth, I’m not at such odds with this word. I have come to understand it a long time ago. The gist of it goes something like this: You will fall down on your knees, and hard, more times than you could ever dodge or anticipate. Some cuts and bruises will never heal. Managing to go through pain until you unreadily order yourself to pick yourself up, get yourself together, get up and start walking into the unknown again – those are the moments you know you are blessed. I just wish there were more blessings, because if you stop seing the point in getting up, you’re fucked. The opposite of blessed. That one I understand.
Luck
And it’s always your choice. Or is it? Here comes the word that is cute, but sometimes I want to punch all her teeth out. “Luck”. I am not sure why it’s a “she”. It sounds like a she. However, in honour of the 21st century, human evolution, collective spiritual growth and elevation, I’ll refer to words as “it” from now on. Hey Luck! Where are you when we need you? Why are you holding out? Why are you picking and choosing? What are you? Something we have to deserve? What does it take? Luck, I think we still have unresolved issues.
So… When you talk to me, you better know I’m paying attention.
I will love you forever.
And I hope that one of these days, someone will make a promise and follow through.
How blessed am I to be living and feeling, while the two of you… Where are you now?
…
Helena to you 