“Don’t cry, I’m sorry to have deceived you so much, but that’s how life is.” Vladimir Nabokov
Is that how life is? Only a deception?
At another time, in a different world or in a parallel universe, I wouldn’t have agreed. I would have said that life was not a deception but an unknown path full of surprises, pleasant surprises. I could have, but not in this world, not in the world I live in.
Why, and I ask myself this question almost on a daily basis, why do I have to be brave and show the people around me that nothing is wrong with me when nothing is right in my life right now? Everything is on hold. The only concrete thing that I am certain of at this moment is my existence. I exist.
I have so many decisions to make, I have so many steps to take and they all depend on the answers I would get, on what the outcome of what I am waiting for, or what I have been waiting for these past few years, will be. I have waited, I was waiting and I am still waiting.
Every time the answer I get is not what I expect it to be, my heart cracks but I still hold on. And I try to believe:
“I try to believe that God doesn’t give you more than one little piece of the story at once. You know, the story of your life. Otherwise your heart would crack wider than you could handle. He only cracks it enough so you can still walk, like someone wearing a cast. But you’ve still got a crack running up your side, big enough for a sapling to grow out of. Only no one sees it. Nobody sees it. Everybody thinks you’re one whole piece, and so they treat you maybe not so gentle as they would if they could see that crack.” Rebecca Wells
I try to convince myself that maybe whatever it was that I was waiting for was a waste of time or that somehow it was not meant to happen. That perhaps God, or destiny or whatever name you want to give it, has other plans for me. I try to figure out the other possibilities. And when I am done with them I move on to figure out my dreams, my purpose, my goal. I try to figure out what it is that I want from this world, from this life which I call mine. And then I move on to figure me out. Only to find out that I can’t. Because to use Rebecca Well’s words:
“You can’t figure me out. I can’t figure me out. It’s life. You don’t figure it out. You just climb up on the beast and ride.”