Wounds

Small miracles, really, woke up every morning, watching these bruises on my left arm, wounds, changing shape, size, and color. Today, they became a constellation of stars, but folded and formed into a straight line. Floating almost, so close each other that they seem to be whispering and flirting with each other, even, attempting to kiss.

“Metaphors, are for you romantic poets, or for the fools who need to simplify complexity of the universe into easier visuals.” This line, I heard, somewhere, came to me suddenly. Marveling at such triviality as body healing might be foolish, but foolishly wonderful.

This healing, parallels the reading of <A little life> by Hanna Yanagihara. I had to stop reading from time to time. One moment, closing my eyes, savoring the relieved happiness for Jude and Willem, this little moment of my own little life. Another moment, JB’s jokes, Andy’s fatherly care and Malcolm’s meticulous architecture plan, reminded me of my own friends. And then there are all the other moments, when it is simply difficult to read. My eyes too wet, vision too blurred to continue. Sadness too deep by the pains in them, heart too ached for the stupid love I had for a fictional character. That I too, want to do everything to save him from hell.

That I have also loved someone so intense, my whole being seems to matter less, only wanting to give him the happiest happiness, to build a shelter, a little world, for us, away from all the evil and hurt of this world, just the two of us.

But it is not stupid, of course…because deeper down this well of compassion. It is also myself, relating, shared sufferings and longing for life, aliveness, by loving him, I am also unapologetically loving that wounded self, past and now folded into one.

Self preservation, or liberation is never meant to be easy, living, is not by design easy, something you learnt as you grow and age, loss, hurt, pain, all inevitable. But love, does give its wings, I do believe that, I have to believe that.

Mom messaged, sending back a photo of me, I shared with her earlier, bright smile, holding a book. “You are glowing, son”, she said, “beautiful!”. A little heat, I felt, growing larger into a sun, inside. What a miracle that we all are alive, and I still have so much time, to love them, to be loved by them.

And then there are responses from W, J and TH, I asked him earlier, “Am I really a good friend?” I asked them. While reading the book, I felt guilty, the love they gave each other requires so much sacrifice, efforts, emotional labor, physical labor. But my love, for my friends, seem so much easier, words, going out, laughing at each other’s jokes. Am I good enough of a friend? Am I selfish? “You never really compromise yourself, your schedule, your life, for love, do you?” One of my ex told me, after a big fight.

“No, you are, a good friend, you are so important to me, and I love you”, are what I heard back. I smiled, and then vision blurry again. Standing, on the cobblestone street, Roma, moon awash new, from rain earlier.

“Do you take donation?” I asked the coffee shop owner, Cranberry’s song in the background. “I just finished reading this book and it is a really good one, I thought someone else might enjoyed it too”. “Oh, of course, but you have to write something down, anything really”.

And I did, Yellow, SH, traveling through, from SF, through Tokyo, Kyoto, HK, NYC, Lisbon, Madrid, Barcelona and now here Roma..And words about the book and then I draw a line of stars, one heart upright, another heart upside down, filled in black, constellation of liberating sadness, I left it like that and gave it to him.

“Grazie, I will leave it there”

“Thank you for letting me sharing a fragment of my being there too!”

Smiled, left…