'Click' - Sarah's face was illuminated by the bright flame of
the lighter. She slowly inhaled, as if
trying to squish the entire world in her
lungs, and then exhaled the smoke right against his face while staring him in
the eyes. Her mouth was slightly
curved in a half-smile.
"So
you want to become a law-y..."
his voice broke off in a cough.
"Virgin
lungs," the girl's blue eyes squinted mockingly "Yeah, I will be a
lawyer soon. I already have the necessary
connections to secure me a good position. Then I'm going to have a fabulous career, meet someone very rich and
marry him, and live in luxury for the rest of my life."
"Well
that's... thoughtful." the guy was obviously
taken aback by Sarah's words. He
excused himself and said he was going to get a drink. He didn't ask her if she wanted one. Sarah already knew he wasn't coming back. Triumphant, she went on smoking and observing the
people around her.
I am Sarah. She is the person I could have been, and the
woman I will never be. But still, I am Sarah, and a
thousand other people, or at least fractions of them. I carry a thousand other versions of me, and of my
life, that simultaneously play out in my mind every single day. Sarah, for example, likes to show her face to the
world when I have one too many drinks on a Saturday evening, and a guy that I
don't like tries to capture my attention. She is pragmatic, cynical, and mostly, mean. I don't like her, but I am thankful to be carrying her within
me.
When I walk, I'm always slightly limping. Only lately have I realized the true reason for this
limp. The other day I noticed a
five-year-old child clutching my left leg like a baby koala its eucalyptus tree. I mean, that's not normal, right? But I know that she's real. I know she's there. I can hear her singing her funny songs all the time,
even when I'm taking tests and trying to concentrate. She simply won't stop. And why would she anyways? To her, the world is one
big playground, and everybody's friends, and there is so much to see and do,
and we've got all the time we need for the things we like. This little girl is laughing carelessly with her tiny
toothless mouth, and she is so fearless and hopeful. Let me tell you a secret. Yesterday she fell off my leg. I was in a hurry and ignored her appeals to slow down
and enjoy our walk home.
So she fell
off, and sat on the ground observing the blood that had slowly started to drip
from the new bruise on her elbow. It must have hurt a little, but she didn't say a thing. Instead, she gave
me a big smile, stood up, and cleaned her elbow with a handkerchief that had violet
ponies on it. Carefully, she put the
handkerchief back in the pocket of her strawberry-colored dress and wrapped
herself around my leg again. She pinched
me lightly and started singing something she just came up with: "Walk it o-of, walk it o-o-of, you little caterpillar..." In this
moment I felt as if I'm being filled up with warm, candy floss-like love for
the world, and for this little gnome on my leg. I never did let go of the kid I used to be. I never will. I guess she's my eucalyptus.
In my pockets I carry at least two pairs of
headphones, gum wraps, nickels and dimes, and a lot of love. I hide it well, so that nobody could get a glimpse of
it. I'm afraid there is too much
of myself in it. This love that I carry, I am not
sure I understand it. I don't think anyone ever
has understood love. For example, I believe that
my love is of the unrequited kind. It's too excessive to be returned. Nobody is ready to give this much, especially not the Universe. It's too busy doing what it's doing to be concerned,
or touched by the feelings of the grain of sand that I am. This is why I've decided to grant this love to whoever
needs it. I can readily give some love
to people I've never met.
I feel for all
the strangers that I pass by every day. I also carry this pain inside, out of compassion for everyone, even for
the ones who do not necessarily need or want it. It's too much, I know. It's because my pockets are full of love. Love is heavy, but at the same time, it makes you light. It makes you mean something to someone, sometime.
I carry the scars of time. I carry Sunday afternoons, and long Monday mornings. I carry my father's eyes, my mother's hair, and my great-grandmother's
spirit. I remember the hands of my
great-grandmother, coarse and gentle at the same time, the hands that fed the
horses and the chickens, and then again the hands that cooked those chickens. I remember those hands that seemed ancient to me holding
a book of fairytales, the index finger patiently following the lines while I
read haltingly. I carry the remembrance of
her, and of my grandfather. I still feel a certain presence when I think of
them. I can almost see them, their
gestures, their eyebrows slightly lifting, their chests rising and falling with
the rhythm of life. I carry the scars of time.
I carry a plethora of music in me. My soul's texture is melody, it's framework is
constructed of lyrics. Not all of the lyrics I like. There are ones that I even hate. I cannot remove them, nor can I change them. They are a part of me. I carry music that people know about, and sometimes I can
hear them singing along with my soul. I also carry songs that nobody has ever heard, ones that I have written,
but never shared. I carry calluses on my left
hand's fingertips with which I have pressed hundreds of strings to numerous
guitar necks. I carry my voice and sing
my song bit by bit, day after day.
Thousands of words and symbols have
been lost in my body, my skin is soaked with meaning and its lack at times. I carry the ink on my skin, a small wave, to remind
me. Some things are better left unsaid and unexplained. Sometimes, you don't need to understand. Sometimes you just know. You feel, and that's enough.
The things I carry will never be one
and the same. I will never be one and the
same. Only the feeling of being
will remain similar. Only the love that I carry
will remain a constant. In this life I have been
many things and many people. I will
be a lot more than what I have been and what I am. What I am comes in waves.
