Mostrando las entradas con la etiqueta opinion. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando las entradas con la etiqueta opinion. Mostrar todas las entradas

miércoles, 5 de diciembre de 2018

Gato de ciudad


   La noche caía y el ruido en toda la ciudad aumentaba, sobre todo cerca de las grandes avenidas y de los centros de entretenimiento que empezaban a llenarse con más y más gente que iban y venían, riendo y hablando, gastando y comiendo. El viernes era siempre lo mismo, un caos con una resolución siempre igual. Era parte del alma de la ciudad y casi no había manera de cambiarlo. Era una de sus realidades y tal vez una de las más conocidas pero ciertamente no la única.

 En un barrio cerca de uno de los distritos de entretenimiento, un gato de color gris con rayas negras cruzaba las calles de un andén al otro, mirando con detenimiento cualquier ser humano o automóvil que pudiese cruzársele. Para poder pasar de un lado a otro de una calle más transitada, tuvo que esperar un buen rato hasta que por fin no hubo vehículos y pudo pasar moviendo su cola de un lado al otro. Llegó a su destino muy pronto: un puente que unía dos colinas por encima de un pequeño valle de casas.

Normalmente, la zona se llenaba de seres humanos que tomaban fotos del puente y desde él, pero a esas horas del viernes, cuando la noche empezaba, por esos lados no había ni un alma. Solo estaba el gato que se subió a la baranda del puente y se sentó allí, a mirar hacia lo lejos. Para él, tanto como para los seres humanos, la vista desde el lugar era simplemente hermosa. No solo por el impacto visual de ver casa justo debajo, sino porque más allá había un hermoso parque verde y luego un río de aguas potentes.

 El gato había recorrido la ciudad de cabo a rabo, a través de su vida como gato de la calle. A veces se quedaba en las casas de algunos humanos, pero no soportaba el hecho de estar encerrado por cuatro paredes. Le parecía una limitación ridícula y el hecho de que algunos de sus compañeros felinos les gustara esa idea, le parecía casi un insulto. En su mente, los gatos tenían que ser libres, para poder hacer lo que más les gustara sin tener que justificarse ante nadie, sin importar cuanta comida recibieran por el cautiverio.

 Mientras movía la cola con suavidad, sintió la presencia de algunos humanos. Estuvo listo para salir corriendo pero no hubo necesidad. Solo rieron, tomaron algunas fotos, rieron más y se fueron hablando de cosas de humanos. Normalmente siempre había uno que decía algo más o que se acercaba a intentar acariciarlo y, dependiendo del momento, el gato podía aceptar la interacción o simplemente irse. Pero fue una fortuna que no pasara nada esa vez porque ese día tenía que quedarse allí, mirando y mirando hasta que lo que iba a pasar tuviese lugar, no importaba el momento.

 Casi se lo pierde por culpa de los humanos y sus cámaras. Cuando volteó a mirar el parque y el río, vio con placer un destello algo débil que indicaba precisamente lo que estaba buscando. El destello fue permanente y luego se apagó para encenderse una vez más. Parecía que algo andaba mal pero no demasiado como para el destello se detuviera del todo. Observó la luz por un buen rato, hasta que por fin se apagó y no volvió a encenderse. La duración era la adecuada y el momento justo, debía proseguir.

 Bajó de la baranda del puente y caminó presuroso hasta una de la calles más cercanas. Esa calle bajaba de manera brusca haciendo un ligero giro, hacia la parte baja, un poco más allá del puente y muy cerca del parque. El gato aceleró el paso, aprovechando la completa ausencia de ruidos provenientes de la humanidad. Era un poco extraño que ninguno de ellos se hiciese notar, pero había ocasiones en que los seres humanos hacían cosas que a los gatos podían parecerles como magia o algo por el estilo.

 Cuando llegó al final de la calle, no se detuvo sino que enfiló directamente hacia la espesura del parque. No era el lugar más alegre del mundo para meterse de noche, pero había que cortar por allí para poder llegar hasta el río. Lo malo del parque de noche no era solo la presencia de seres humanos más insoportables que otros, sino que con frecuencia existía la posibilidad de encontrarse con criaturas que no tenían nada que ver con la vida en la ciudad. Era un poco insultante que invadieran todo, sin más.

 Una vez, el gato había tenido que luchar por un pedazo de comida que había encontrado por sí mismo con una cosa que parecía gato pero era más grande y peludo. Tenía como manchas en los ojos y unas manitas que le recordaban a las manos de los seres humanos pequeños. Era una criatura increíblemente rápida y agresiva, tanto que logró rasgar el pelaje del pobre gato varias veces. Por fortuna, una de los humanos buenos lo había curado pues lo encontró en el parque al día siguiente de la pelea.

 Además estaban las palomas, de los seres más tontos que el gato hubiese jamás encontrado. Había muchos compañeros suyos que las perseguían e incluso se las comían pero él las encontraba simplemente asquerosas. Eran criaturas sucias, que no tenían ningún problema en comer cualquier cosa que se les pusiera enfrente, incluyendo a otras palomas. Eran seres tan tontos que huían siempre de los humanos a pesar de que estos casi siempre solo querían alimentarlas. Le parecía que seres tan tontos como esos no tenían lugar en un lugar tan hermoso como el parque y tampoco en su estomago.

 Sin embargo, esa noche el parque estaba bastante solo y en calma. No había bestias locas tratando de robarles a otras ni las palomas parecían tener mucho interés en hacer nada más sino buscar semillas aquí y allá. Cuando estuvo del otro lado de la zona verde, el gato se dio cuenta que primero debía cruzar una avenida enorme antes de poder llegar hasta el río. Tuvo que esperar mucho tiempo para poder hacerlo, habiendo intentado en varias ocasiones pero teniendo que devolverse cada vez por el paso de algún vehiculo.

 Cuando por fin estuvo del otro lado, vio que había otro parque cerca del agua, como hundido junto a la avenida. Pero no era un parque bonito, como el que había cruzado hacía un rato. Era uno de esos hechos por humanos, con un montón de cosas que no eran naturales. De hecho, era obvio que era entretenimiento exclusivo para ellos, porque de una parte de ese sector provenía un ruido estridente al que el gato que no quería acercarse ni por error. Por eso siguió la avenida hasta un puente.

 Era la única manera de cruzar el río, por lo que subió al borde del puente y caminó cuidadosamente. No era como el del barrio en el que vivía sino más grande y más grueso. Lo que pisaba al caminar eran grandes rocas frías y lo que iluminaba el sector eran lámparas de un color bastante extraño, apagado, casi triste. Sin embargo, el puente no era muy largo y su recorrido terminó muy pronto. Miró hacia atrás, para ver cómo se movía el agua en la oscuridad. No le gustaba mucho la idea de caer allí algún día.

 Se detuvo un momento y comprendió que la luz había venido de un lugar muy cercano al puente, por la calle lateral que bordeaba el río. Era un barrio muy silencioso, con casitas y no edificios como al otro lado del agua. Se sentía como un lugar diferente, casi como si hubiese cambiado de ciudades para llegar hasta allí. Era agradable sentir que se estaba en un lugar nuevo, algún sitio en el que pudiese intentar nuevas cosas y vivir de una nueva manera. Había mucho por hacer en el mundo y muy poco tiempo para hacerlo.

 Pasados unos minutos, vio que de ese lado no había parque, solo un viejo muelle casi desmantelado. Con cuidado, caminó por la madera vieja y se encontró, a medio camino de la punta, con una linterna de mano, muy pequeña, tirada en ese preciso lugar. La olió y la tocó: estaba caliente.

 Cuando se dio la vuelta, una gata blanca lo miraba desde la calle. No lo llamó ni hizo ningún gesto, solo corrió hacia el otro lado de la calle y de pronto se detuvo, mirándolo de nuevo. No tenía que hacerlo dos veces para que él entendiera. La aventura apenas empezaba.

viernes, 28 de septiembre de 2018

My truth


   The moment I came out from the interview, I took out one my cigarettes and lit it up right there, in front of the office building. There was no one there doing the same thing, so of course people looked at me as if I was the strangest thing they had ever done, almost as if they had never even seen a human smoking in their lives. Maybe it was my clothes or the way I was standing up or maybe the fact that it was obvious I didn’t belong there. Maybe they were very good at looking through people and knowing their truth.

 I didn’t stay long to figure it out. With my cig on my mouth, I walked towards the bus stop. I didn’t really want to go back home so soon, so I wasn’t precisely running to grab the bus. I stood a bit far from the bus stop in order to finish the cigarette, as I thought of the questions they had asked me and the answers I had given. My truth right then and there was that I wanted to scream, to run away and just put my head inside a hole in the ground. I was frustrated and tired and just fed up with everything around me.

 My bus came in too fast, so I had to put off my cigarette. Luckily, the bus was not as filled up as it could have been. I was a bit pissed off that I had to pay for it, only because I knew going to that stupid interview had been a waste of time. The same thing had happened that year, once and again and again and again. Sometimes it was in places close to my home but I mostly had to travel by bus in order to just feel like an imbecile once I got to the actual interview. I had to sit there and pretend I knew shit about shit.

 Somehow, I had learned to pretend and lie in many parts of my life, but never in situations like interviews. Actually, more than not knowing how to do it, I think it was something related to not having the same mindset than the people doing the interview. I knew I wasn’t one of them. And I don’t mean it like saying I’m better or something like that. I’m certainly not better. But the point is we weren’t understanding each other because we were two very different types of people who could never connect at any level.

 That happened to me in every interview, from the moment I came out of college until today, six years later. Six years and I have never had a steady job because people won’t hire me. Maybe it’s lack of enthusiasm or maybe it’s just that I don’t have any skills or knowledge that can be applied in a “useful” job. And I live in a country were jobs are a precious thing, not really offered in every corner. And yet, some people get them and stay in them for several years or maybe all of their lives. And here I am, over thirty now, jobless and still wondering if I will ever be able to live by myself.

 As I step down the bus, a couple of blocks away from my house, I decide to take my ass to the nearest park. I have no need to hear my mother’s questions about the interview or feel how my dad looks at me knowing that I’m a complete and utter failure. No, I need to mix it up a little bit and maybe the park has exactly what I need. If I was a pothead, I would consider smoking there for a while but I cannot even have an interesting hobby like that one. I’m very boring and just sit there by myself.

 There are many guys walking dogs and old ladies also doing the same thing. I get obsessed for a while with people picking up their dogs businesses. Then, I remember why I’m there and my world just crumbles again. I feel the need to cry but I really don’t want to. I’m tired of having done that so many times in the past. It’s like I’m dried up, just too damn tired to shed one more tear into this ungrateful fucking world. I’d rather just stay put and think about something else, escape from everything once again.

 Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Why doesn’t that faggot just commit to something and start changing his ways? Why doesn’t he just become whatever it is that people are looking for in a worker? I mean, that’s what people do: they pretend to be this superhuman in order to be considered for anything from a job to a damn relationship. Fuck, even people that want to fuck each other lie about many things in order to get laid. So what’s up with this guy? Why doesn’t he just do what everybody else does and shut up?

 Well, I can’t. I physically can’t. I cannot pretend forever, I cannot work in something I despise or don’t even have an interest in. Of course I don’t have that luxury, to like what I work in. I don’t and I know that. But even in that case I just feel like I have no other option but being this sack of gas and shit that biology turned me into. I cannot just acquire all of those things that people have because it’s a case of you have it or you don’t. At least it is for me, from my point of view.

 Of course, you people are just thinking: “Who the fuck does this guy think he is? Why doesn’t he just do something, like all the rest of us do?” And the real answer to that is that I don’t have a fucking clue why I don’t do that, why I don’t just turn into someone else and become this being that everyone wants to be connected with. But I can’t. I have failed as a human male, I know that. And I’m trying to reconcile with that in a world that doesn’t give a fuck about individuals, where the group is always much more important than anything you might be feeling in your little weak head.

 When I realize it, it’s almost completely dark. The lamps on the park illuminate everything in the creepiest way and it does remind me that this city is filled with rapists, murderers, robbers and, the worst part, stupid fuckers. So I stand up and walk a few blocks towards home. I prepare in my mind phrases to tell my mother and my father. As I enter the building and press the elevator button, the sense of dread enters my soul once again. I feel awful, like crying once again, but I just don’t do it. What good will that make?

 I enter home and, as predicted, she asks me about how it went and my father looks at me over his glasses. I just say whatever thing it was that I prepared and then excuse myself because I really want to pee. And it’s true, but I also want to run away from there because I have no need to watch them look at me. I feel parents can really see through their children, even if they decide to buy the lies you tell them as their sons and daughters. Parents always know, in one way or the other, and that has always scared me.

 I enter the bathroom, close the door and pull out my penis. As I pee, I look myself at the mirror and see someone I don’t completely like. It’s not only his looks that I have always hated, but also the fact that he cannot be the person that everyone wants him to me, that he needs to be in order to survive this motherfucking world. Look at him, staring back at me with those depressing little eyes and that fucking brain that’s only filled with garbage. I can say I sometimes despise him to death.

 And his looks. He cannot even get anyone to fuck him and there is no doubt why. Never mind the tiny dick, just look at his face. He looks sick and oily, just disgusting. He finishes peeing, washes his hands in seconds and leaves. I enter my room and just fall on my bed. Again, I want to cry and scream and yell and hit and kick. But I can’t. I know nothing of the sorts will help me be whoever it is I’m supposed to be. It just won’t and I don’t know what to do next, when to just quit for good. It seems like the obvious choice.

 How many times can I stand being rejected for a job interview? For how long can I wait until I understand that no one will ever hire me to do anything? Am I resistant enough to last like this forever? Should I even keep doing that now, that I know the reality of who I am and my possibilities?

 I fall asleep and wake up in the middle of night. My mother apparently understood it all, because she didn’t wake me up or nothing. It’s four in the morning and my thoughts race through my head. I’m trying to stay in control, but sometimes it is taken from you and there’s nothing you can do about it.

miércoles, 22 de abril de 2015

The concept of friendship

   Many people say that their friends are actually family as they have known them for as long as they’ve known heir parents or siblings, and have spent the same amount of time with each one. Some friends meet first in a park, when they’re babies, or because their families are acquainted. That is known to happen although it’s not the norm. Many people meet their friends later in life, when they reach the age to go into school. That place is the most common one to make first friends and to make alliances that would mark a person’s life, for good or bad.

 In my case, and like many people, I also made friends in several playgrounds and places of conglomeration. Kids have that innate ability to communicate with others, without all the contamination that we have as adults. They don’t see beyond a face and they make friends for life in a matter of seconds. Even if they only see each other once, for a couple of hours, they label the other kids friends. Why wouldn’t they? They understand that people who share a taste for something or a passion are friends and, actually, that’s what the base consists of.

 But as adults, we do not make friends that easily because we know a lot more about people and because we are more worried about been safe that about meeting new people. It’s not something bad. Some adults don’t have that protective sensibility and that’s when attacks happen, whatever they’re reasoning or lack of reasoning is. As adults, we don’t really make new friends. We meet people and bond but it is very unlikely that we connect as easily as we would if we were kids. Because we know people and we know what they can do.

 Nevertheless, we meet people and often share a connection. But friendship built on adulthood is much more sensible to changes and it isn’t likely it lasts very long. Why? Maybe because you’re not really evolving anymore. You are the same person day after day, year after year. Many people start being friends because they share a growth process and they need someone to share that journey with. But when you’re an adult, that journey is much more slower, less satisfying and not very thrilling to see, only to live.

 Although, the real key is to know on what you have based your friendship. Is it built on shared experiences, shared tastes, a likening for the same kind of people, a feeling of loneliness, a need to speak to someone, …? What is it that makes you someone friend? Many people think it’s because you share opinions but that isn’t always the case. It is impossible that two people agree on every single thing. Maybe on key subjects. Maybe that’s where friendship lies: in connecting in a couple of things you consider to be most important in your life. If you find someone who sees life the same way you do, on those two subjects, maybe that person would make a great friend.

I, for one, count myself in the group of people that don’t really have a lot of friends. How many friends do you think it’s “normal” to have? Some would say ten, some others twenty, some even might say only one good friend is enough. But, as most of things in life, that all depends on the person you are talking to. After all, we are not all alike and we all have different lives that make us different people. Besides, it takes a lot more than a couple of shared opinions to be someone’s friend.

 Let’s take my high school as an example. I went to a school were parents with an above average income would send their kids, so they were many connections on that level. Many people’s parents were friends so naturally their children were friends too.  Then, there were some people with average or below average income that had been able to pay for a good school for their children. Those kids were, strangely, not always on with the other. Those were the ones that felt the need to blend in so they tried to have a wider range of types of friends. In fewer words, they played it safe.

 Was there any bullying? Sure. It would be a very uncommon school if that hadn’t happened. It was always about the ones that came up as unusual: the very nerdy guy, the very nerdy girl, an effeminate kid, the new kid,… They are many types of people in a school and it’s normally very easy to put every person on a box, even if that’s not the best idea. But that is what the kids do. Girls, from a young age, know that it’s far better if they have an athlete as a boyfriend than the nerdy guy. Unless that nerdy guy happens to also be an athlete but that rarely happens.

 And men also know which girls they should date: the physically prettier ones because they need each other as prizes. If the rest of the people know that they are dating someone especially “hot”, then the other will know who is more important. Of course, we are talking about young people’s dynamics. They are many times vicious and calculating and they have learned all that from their parents and media. No one can wash hands when we see a terrible teenager in a mall or small brat in the park. It is a shared blame but blame all the same.

 I was the new guy. I was the new guy for about two or three years. They saw me as an outsider because, although it was common for new people to arrive, they preferred the ones that were outgoing and had something to bring to the table. I didn’t. So I was an outcast for many years in school until I made some friends. But we didn’t have a strong connection, like common goals or tastes. We only had one another and that was enough to be friends.

 The years went on and I made some more similar friends and realized the concepts had slowly shifted. It wasn’t like when we were fourteen. At seventeen, girls want to date the bad boys and guys want girls that have been around the block. That is the truth and the biggest truth about it all is that it’s all a lie. Must people, and this is a proven fact, have not have sex until after they leave school. So it is statistically impossible that every single person with whom I graduated, had lost their virginity. But anyway, people claimed they have had sex because that was the next big thing.

 Kissing, having sex, alcohol, drugs… You name it. I doubt that it was only happening in my school. All kids have that rush, a need for what has been forbidden for many years. And they love it or at least fake they love it because at that age what you do most is faking and lying. Whether it is to your teachers or your parents or your so-called friends, doesn’t matter. You just do because you learn lies can take you where you think you want to be.

 I didn’t really lied back then. I didn’t have anything to lie about. Alcohol was fine but I was not interested. My sex life was better that many other’s in the school, which is something that does not make me proud but I find funny. But there was no love, no childish romance. I never experiences that. I never knew how it was to feel that stupid feeling of accomplishment when you haven’t really done anything. And, obviously, I will never know.

 In college I had the best time of my life, no doubt about that. I started learning about what I loved and met people with whom I made deep connections. I understood how it is you build a real friendship, balancing those similarities and the opposing opinions. That’s when I became and adult. I did it when I realized how society works and I refused to play by the same rules because I had learned them and wasn’t going to play that game of hypocrisy and lies.

 My rule in school was to make time pass and not to attract any attention to myself. And I think I did a tremendous job at it. But in college, when I realized who I was and why I was that, I started not giving a shit about what people said or thought. I think many saw me naked, not on campus of course. I attracted attention to myself a couple of times and did not care. I felt free and all because I was happy. I had never felt so fulfilled in my life.

 Nowadays, that freedom is blurry. I have no job, no prospects; the future is bleak at best. But I keep the friendships built on solid ground and all that I learned while growing up. The friends that I made on sandy ground are not there anymore. To be honest, I don’t know if they are really friends at all. I like them and would never say anything bad at them but it’s the truth when I say we needed each other back then but now what made us be together doesn’t exist anymore. We have no reason to be together as no real lasting connections were ever made.


 Friends, in any case, are important. We need that connection with others because it’s the only way we built ourselves up and realize our potential and how we can make this world one worth living in.

miércoles, 28 de enero de 2015

Who We Are

   I don’t believe it. I just can’t. The pure concept of a “community” is, for me, just nonsense. If there were a community, any kind, they would be there to stop all atrocities and crimes from happening. But that’s not the case, is it? This world is rotting at a formidable speed and there’s nothing that can stop it. It’s just the way it is. Is it intentional or did no one see the signs we are just fucked?

 People say, often, that we live better now than others did fifty or a hundred years ago. That is obvious. Any person with half a brain, more than most people use, would know that. But I’m not talking about the comforts of life; I’m talking about people as people. We have gone down the drain and gotten worse with time. Of course, not to wonder much about it as humanity has been capable of killing itself in mass. What comes after that then?

 Yeah, yeah… “Humanity has done great things too”. Well, really? Medicine they say… Well why do you think we advance in medicine if it’s not for lengthening our lives, to be able to be more powerful, more than the bags filled with gas that we are? Medicine does not exist to make life better but to make it longer. The innocent that thinks that vaccines and medications are made to take care of the frail and hopeless, are just too innocent to see what’s really going on.

 So, what comes after we have killed so many of ourselves? Well, hate of course. People hate they are free from xenophobia, free from actual hate, senseless and insane. Well, we’re not. We all hate something or someone. We might not consider ourselves racists, but we still fear the people that oppressed us and those who we oppressed. It’s only natural, after generations that behave like animals. Now it’s us who have to be scared of the world around us, which has gotten more dangerous.

 And why is that, we may ask? Well, precisely because people in the past did so much to prove they were above others. Little stupid groups claiming they were in possession of universal truth, telling people how to live their lives, who to admire, who to loath and even what to eat, how to eat and when to eat it. Sounds insane? That’s because it is. We praise the human brain so much but the truth is our biology is so easy to influence. So much that today it’s not hard to make someone ill, make them have a headache or make them sick to their stomachs. We can even kill someone without using a real weapon. We are weak.

 The interesting thing is that we just won’t admit hoe fucked we are. People are killed all over the place, disease comes and takes a shitload of people and many are still denied the same rights as others. Nevertheless, less important “news”, that aren’t new at all, invade the papers to make us feel fear and hope at the same time. The grand media folk make us love someone and hate others. They just shift the pieces of the puzzle and make up dozens of variations on the same subject. So there’s a little bit for everyone but the truth, the real one, is always lost forever, known to no one, not even to the ones that make her disappear.

 It is true we live better than before. But that is because we have been taught what to think of society and we have learned the model we live by is just the best because they haven’t create a better one. Haven’t they? May there be something better? Who knows? We are in no capacity of knowing that because even the most “perfect” place in the world is deprived of something. And whatever it is, it makes that “community” and incomplete one.

 Take for instance rich people in a rich country. They can buy all they want but any of us know that that’s not very important at the end of the day. No, not because it doesn’t matter. Try to live life without money on this planet. No, it’s more because we don’t really fill our head with riches. We fill it with experiences and those who make us feel better are not specially attached to money.

 Many, for example, seek for love. The one true love. Most people are so enthralled with the idea of “real love” that they don’t even stop to think what that means. How do I feel love? Does it feel the same for everyone? And here’s comes the real news: no, it doesn’t. It is a fact that feelings are chemicals reactions happening in the brain. Rats can feel pleasure if we put some electrodes on it and influence the right area of its brain. Same thing can be done with humans. But feelings are more than that. Why? Because they are stored inside our heads and have consequences beyond the mere experience.

 When we love, hate or feel curiosity, we feel something. But we also create from that. A relationship is made by what you remember and what you don’t. And all of this is classified: this is good, this is bad, and this is weird. We keep it in mind and we use it as words or actions if we need it. Those are still feeling but they have stopped being only chemicals in our bodies. We keep them in there if we need to use them.

And we do. But not in a very good way. Humanity has always been very trivial. We have always, in one way or another, loved staring at shiny objects. Whether those are nice precious stones or a beautiful body, we have always idealized what it is to be human. We have grown as a species thinking we are just the best there is because we can speak and walk and conquer. But what’s the use of all of that if don’t have anything to show for ourselves?

 Yes, the discoveries. We cannot deny some humans have gone beyond themselves to explain certain things and create new objects from what nature has given us. That cannot be denied. But another fact that cannot be denied is the fact that most of us have no idea how to create and we are really not interested in it. We created religion precisely to do that. To explain what we, lazy as we are, won’t or can’t explain. Humanity doesn’t like when something cannot be explained and that’s why so many crazy theories exist. We just need to explain, even if the answer is obviously fabricated.

 Then again, we keep killing each other, just because they decided to lie to themselves with different lies that we did or because they eat differently or dress with other clothes. Or just, and we never admit this, because they live far and looks different. This would mean xenophobia but this is the real reason of many wars that humanity has gone through. Just hate, without sense or consideration.

 We fail to see that biologically we are exactly the same. And we are not special. Other creatures walk and breathe and speak. The fact that we don’t understand them doesn’t mean we are better. I won’t go to saying we are the same psychologically because that is a creation of man to explain what’s inside one’s head. And the explanations, often, are as ridiculous as the explanations the ancients have for why the sun was up there with the moon.

 No, the best we can do in this world is acknowledge that we are different, even unique, inside our heads but that we are all the same outside of them. Of course, this doesn’t bring any peace of mind to anyone but nature rarely cares about that. We are just one species on a small particle of dust in the vast universe. And we fail to realize that daily, we fail to see we don’t really matter in the broader context of time and space.

 This doesn’t mean we should just go in deep depression and die. It means we should really live, like real people would do. Let’s just not get into the lives of others and let’s try to learn from each other’s differences that reside inside our heads. If we took a moment learning about what others do in life and what they think on certain important matters (not politics, of course), we would see how similar we are, even inside our heads. That’s the surprise of it all.


 We are not unique, special or precious. We are flawed, simple and unimportant. But we are here and that’s what really matters.