I bet you are unhappy trying to pretend you are tough, trying to pretend you don’t care. Because you don’t know where you learnt that being emotional is a weakness. Hiding all the time. Maybe you learnt this at school or maybe just life taught you this: we live in a world based on action. Make decisions, write down your future, plan. Hide your tears when they come. But no one taught you how to handle a flood. You retreat further down inside yourself, drifting on the irrationality you gained. You are a prisoner of yourself. You must have denied your true nature for a long time now. There is a door in front of yourself, but just like in a dream, it is constantly moving. You look for the key to open that door, but your pockets are empty. And you don’t know who has that key, if you had it and lost it, if you ever really had it or if someone else stole it from you.
Who has the key for my happiness? Who stole it from me? Where am I? Where can I learn how to create a key?
Be your own teacher. Know yourself. And if you really like planning, consider attending these special classes where you can learn something about yourself. About what you really want because no one else can teach you that. Write a note and post it on that constantly moving door. And be patient.
I bet you are unhappy, woman, hiding some of your most beautiful gifts: your vulnerability and your need for protection.
I understand you are afraid because what was first a fear became a monster. And the name of that monster we all fear is loneliness. We cannot do everything by ourselves. There are nights when you just want to put your head to rest and feel someone’s hands running through your hair. Late November nights, when you gain an almost painful consciousness of the warmth of your body dissipating in solitude.
I bet you are unhappy when your woman closes her ears in front of your logic.
You see her refusing to think about something and drifting further away from you in silence. At some point there must have been a wound that no one spoke about. No one cried for. I bet you feel like drifting away in your own solitude when she disregards your desire for action. When she leaves you outside her world and closes all the doors and windows and you see her eyes getting darker and a sadness glowing inside them that you do not understand. And you are too afraid of the unknown like all of us. You see her diving inside a sadness that is a bit mysterious and a bit foolish at the same time. And it saddens you as well because she stands behind a door where you cannot enter and make her laugh. That bright laughter you remember so well because you did want to make her happy. And now you are both flooded and no one taught you how to deal with a flood you do not understand.
But I bet you want to be happy.
Let’s meet somewhere in between. I will be standing in front of that constantly moving door I told you about and you will be standing in front of your door. I bet you will be a little afraid and I will be as well. But when we will open our own doors, maybe we will meet each other and find out with surprise it was only one door. And fresh air will start running between our two worlds. And we will be happy. The end.
I bet you think I am an incurable romantic while reading this, but being romantic is not a disease. It was a romantic impulse to write these two words: the end. But that is not the end, the world goes on running, men and women go on dating, living, loving, sometimes even going to war against each other. And ultimately we die. I am chameleon, but unlike a classical chameleon, I display high adaptability not to the outside world, but to the inside world. A reservoir of dreams and emotions, which are not only mine, but they sleep inside the depths of the human soul. We might think sometimes that we are hopelessly isolated inside ourselves, until we find out with surprise there are people passing through similar situation. We are never really alone. Trust me, I am Don Quijote, the chameleon.