Don't give me flowers.

Being as I am, I can't avoid to have a take on everything and I actually don't want to avoid to have a take on everything. Why would I want to do that?

I respect all living creation --heck, I even respect inert creation. Well, being honest, sometimes I don't respect bugs... but hey, it's a reflex... and again, that says a lot about us humans--, that being said, don't give me flowers.

And then this was born:

I don't need a beautiful representation of an impending doom, so please, don't give me flowers. It is not me going against the currents of what is known as romantic and sweet, it's not me trying to be philosophical, I promise. Just don't give me flowers.

I've put some thought into this, I have. I do have reasons. It is not what it represents, it is a nice gesture, it is. To me, it actually goes more like this: it's lazy. God, that could be taken as profane, I need the chance to explain. It's lazy to give flowers, yes, and it's lazy to receive them as well. It's lazy love, if any at all. 

When I were to love and be loved, that one won't buy me flowers, he won't. The one who loves me will suggest we go buy some seeds instead. We'll grow our own flowers, we'll have a whole garden. We'll grow those seeds from scratch and that, that sounds like a plan. That's a love who sticks around, that's the love I need just now.

And as our garden grows with time and the years start passing by, I'll put flowers on the table. Yes, I will cut some flowers and I'll put them on a vase... and yes, he will ask me why, oh why on earth? cause he remembers what I once said. And I will reply --he knows so he grinds-- with a good reason and I, with the charm that might still be left in me, will say:

My love, some flowers have to die in order for some new ones to grow... 

the most important thing is that we still work in our garden, so it renews all the time 

and because we still have our garden, we know we'll always have flowers, 

no matter how many get cut. 

.

.

When I die, bring me a flower, 

I promise I will understand.

The beginning of a late to arrive end.

"Sometimes words get short and love get skinny; 

after that they all come along, the other signs of malignancy."

After opening her soul entirely... or almost entirely anyway, he just couldn't reply. He probably didn't know how, or worst, he felt it wasn't worth it. Not anymore. He just managed to tell her to read a book.

"Can a book change a life?" she asked, half waiting for a bit of hope to cling to, half for a spark of hope inside him that she could actually change her ways. But she got none when he reluctantly replied "No."

What was she thinking? that 24 years were going to magically transform and fill with possibility with a three letter word?, probably not... but it would be nice if possible. 

Now she was left with two options. Do nothing and prepare for a life destined to this present unhappiness but "security", or drop everything and find the one soul as empty as hers, with the possibilities of thriving together or dying together as the same. 

She wasn't being punished, she deserved every piece of this. She was fully aware. And it went back to those days, those innocent days where decisions were made lightly and lives couldn't be hurt cause they had all the time in the world to heal. It's a medical fact that the healing process gets harder and slower with age.

A look at the present, and those days are now long time gone. People grow at the blink of an eye. Years go by as a shortly extended season. 

He brought her back to that virtual moment and said "You're slightly cold and careless, if that's what you want to hear. It's not the first time either, that I say it, you always seek to drive people to the point where they tell you your defects, just so you hear another voice saying it... or to confirm them in some twisted way.". And as usually he did when he wanted out of a conversation starting to deepen, he said "Nothing else to say right now."

She hated that, being left with no apparent space to respond... still she did, every time. "It's not twisted, it's desperate. It's easier to be something if no one else notices it.". She took a deep breath, to herself, --she knew she was really alone in that room and many other rooms for that matter-- and added "I learned that I thrive when times are at their worst. I probably hoped it would work in all other circumstances."

He didn't reply. Or maybe, again, she just said that last part to herself. There was not much logical sense in sharing that anyway, no one is listening, remember?

Did she ever loved him? or her feelings were just furtive glimpses of love? furtive glimpses of something like it, perhaps...

What happens when words suddenly stop?

What happens when topics get short?

What happens when there's nothing left to say?

She wrote:

One person

History repeating itself

Caught in the middle

Can a person change?

Is it possible, truly?

Some people will just die unhappy.

Some people will just stay inside their misery.

The real question is: "Will I be one of those?"

.

.

What a great question.

Socialmente Incorrecto.

El ser humano es un ser simple y complejo, todo a la vez. 

Y la mayor parte del tiempo es ser simple lo que le resulta más difícil. 

Cada ser debería, hasta cierto punto, regirse por sus deseos. Sin embargo, ante este enunciado surge la pregunta ¿exactamente hasta qué punto es correcto el regirse por los deseos, y quién determina dicho punto/línea exacta? 

Nos negamos a nosotros mismos cada vez que decidimos complacer un ideal de nosotros y no a nuestro verdadero yo. Es cierto que nos han civilizado y entendemos que las cosas no siempre serán como deseamos, además de que hemos aprendido a controlar esa dimensión primitiva que poseemos, pero quiero enfocarme más a nivel personal y en esos deseos maduros que aún así reprimimos. La mayoría del tiempo sabemos lo que queremos, muy pocas veces nos atrevemos a perseguirlo. 

Los ejemplos abarcan desde lo muy simple -quiero comerme una segunda porción de pastel, pero no lo hago porque mis compañeros me miran y pensarían que soy una glotona o que no tengo qué comer en mi casa-, hasta lo más complejo y que envuelve otras personas -ya no amo a mi pareja, pero como tenemos varios años juntos y hemos hecho planes, no quiero que ni esa persona ni nuestros allegados piensen mal de mi, antes que eso seré infeliz-. Ahora, es menester detenernos a pensar: ¿Para eso se nos ha regalado el tiempo y ésta sola vida? Sinceramente no lo creo.

Siempre fui una de abogar por hacer las cosas "bien" y ser moralmente correcta, pero en el transcurso de esa tarea/misión, me di cuenta que bajo esas reglas se termina haciendo demasiadas cosas que van en contra de quien se es sólo para encajar en los estándares de "correcto" que impone la sociedad. Correcto es ser tú mismo, mientras nunca tengas intención de dañar a otros seres, mientras persigas ser feliz y servir al propósito que sientes fuiste enviado a servir. Correcto es ser feliz. 

Nadie es perfecto. Muchos fingen serlo, y esos son los que al final están más dañados, más tristes, más pobres de espíritu, más lejos de la verdad, más lejos de la imperfecta perfección. Se imperfecto, pero se tú mismo. Se "socialmente incorrecto" mientras seas personalmente correcto, ¿no está la sociedad al borde de un abismo de todos modos?, ¿por qué echarse a perder en masa?

Nadie que te aprecie de verdad, cuestionará tu búsqueda de la felicidad.

Nadie que te ame de verdad, te negará la oportunidad de encontrar la felicidad.

Nadie que te quiera de verdad, querrá ser obstáculo entre tú y tu felicidad.

Muy pocos te pondrán primero, y a muy pocos pondrás primero. Pero son esos los que nunca querrán verte ser de otra forma que no seas tú, y es a esos que siempre debes apreciar y dejar ser cómo son. La vida es así de bella, así de simple. Ama a los demás como son y no como quisieras que sean, deja a los demás ser feliz a su manera y no como quisieras que lo sean. Y nunca olvides hacerlo tú también, creo que de eso se trata o esa es la idea.