Contrasting colors on the sidewalk
Nothing matters. I’ve known it for a long time. So, it’s not worth doing anything. I just discovered that.
I raised my head to see the reflection the mirror showed. Someone finished, without any care, but with eyes sacrificed before the precariousness of the conditions in which I have lived for some time. Upon returning to my room, I only glimpsed ruins and resigned myself once more to wandering through the few paths I could find. I remember that last night I couldn't fall asleep, being in that world that memories showed me:
Contemplating the twilight, I was on the platform, a road not very busy but close to a store to buy more food ; there was no concern at all, only looking for something better to do with myself. In loose clothes and with tied-up hair, that young man sat down next to me upon seeing me in solitude. He took two cans of beer from his pocket and offered me one; receiving it, I offered him some of the food I had at my disposal. We stayed there looking at the landscape, beautiful in every sense, with colors so vibrant it was impossible to look away. Opposite colors intertwining; it is as if joy joined with sadness and they danced for a few moments. It is like that person with whom we can let go of everything we carry inside. It felt as if he were trying to tell me that I needed to learn I cannot be alone.
"How absurd this life is. The sun comes out just to hide," said the blissful character, pulling me out of my abstraction. The hour arrived where the twilight announced its withdrawal; it was up to us to find another objective to appreciate. We stayed in silence observing the coming and going of every passerby.
"Everything is a cycle," I began to say, "everything has a beginning and everything has an end; sooner or later, it will". "Look at all these people passing by; some go and come from their jobs, others go out for a walk, and then there’s us, going out to drink and eat something. How are we like the sun in its coming and going?".
"That we don't change our route," the good boy answered me. "We keep walking the same paths and pretend to change". "I think the sun is tired of following the same route". After digesting his words, I could only laugh at such an assertion. "You are forgetting the process. It’s not just the path, but also how we travel it".
His gaze rested on me and, with a face full of curiosity, he asked: "¿What do you do for a living?". "I exist". "Is that all?". "I do nothing more than live and think about what I will do..." Connecting gazes, I conceded he was right. "How absurd this life is".
We spent the remaining time finishing getting to know each other. It was pleasant to talk to this boy who turned out to be a few years younger than me, and we promised to see each other at the same time and the same day of the week to continue our chat. I entered my house; everything was calm, and as if I hadn't eaten anything, I went to the kitchen to make myself a tuna sandwich. I looked for the best slices of bread, added the cheese, prepared the tuna to serve it, and did not hesitate on the quantity. While returning to my room, my parents stopped me to have a conversation. With my "happy sandwich," I headed over without any worry, and sitting in the living room, it began:
"Too much time has passed since you finished your studies, and you've given yourself a very long sabbatical". "A few months ago, we agreed you were going to find a job, and you still haven't found anything...". "What happens next will be complex, but it was a decision that also cost us to make"—they sighed before giving the news—"Dear son, you are fired". "You have to leave this house".
I received those words like knives entering and exiting my body; my happy sandwich went straight to the floor (apparently, it’s no longer happy), and I tried to speak. "Don't try to negotiate; we've been talking about this for several weeks. We're giving you less than a month to vacate". For a while longer, I tried to dialogue, but every effort was useless; yet, I wouldn't give up. In two weeks, I tried to make them change their minds, but I felt as if the sea were at my neck. Because I know very well that I will be alone, that without reinforcements, I will lose the battle to which they were sending me. It is a destiny I fear to walk.
"What are you going to do?". "I don't know, my friend," I replied, receiving the beer he offered me. "Why is life so cruel?". "I wish everything were like they painted it in cartoons".
We drank one or two gulps from the cans, and my friend took the initiative in the conversation : "The world is cruel. Good is not only limited to helping, and evil is not limited to stealing happiness". "But that is what makes life interesting".
Immediately, I looked at him. His hair waved with the gentle breeze that passed; the horizon stole his nonchalant gaze. I didn't have enough courage to respond; my countenance had fallen. With only one week left of my time, I managed to get a job and, a few days later, a place to rest my head, and my odyssey began. I couldn't think of anything else; I didn't have time to do more. I started missing the meetings with my friend, and every time I passed by there, I told the person at the store to tell him that this time I would arrive, but I never did.
One day I managed to leave early and headed to meet my friend. I tried to catch the bus, but all those passing by were full. I resigned myself to calling a taxi, but halfway there, an accident occurred that forced us to stay still; I only watched as the fare I would pay went up and up. I decided to get out and walk; I was willing to walk several kilometers. In the middle of the route, it started to rain; I searched feverishly for my umbrella, but I had left it at the construction site where I work. Under the pale starlight, I arrived at our meeting spot and, as expected, there was no one.
I sat down to breathe and couldn't lift my gaze; I looked at the ground and noticed the pain in my feet, the wear on my hands, and how burned my skin was. The pain I felt didn't come from the physical, but from failing my friend again, whom I missed so much. Every time I think of him, only the image of the twilight embracing him comes to me; how a free spirit could be in such a demanding land, how someone could be as beautiful as the first love we feel, though heartrending... Why is it that the most beautiful things are intertwined deeper with death than with life?. His absence hurts me; it hurts not to see him. If it were in his hands, I would offer no resistance.
Without realizing it, I was crying and the tears came out incessantly; I couldn't stop them. This was a secret between the moon and me; the stars watched from their distance, but I promised I would see him again, that I would do everything possible to talk to him once more. "Will he still be coming?" I asked the stars.
I stood up again and went to the store. With the little money I had, I bought the ingredients to make myself a meal that would restore me, a dinner of champions: "A tuna sandwich," although it had no tuna because I couldn't afford it; I would have to make it with egg. While the worker handed me the purchase, he told me that the young man in loose clothes and tied-up hair had left a message. The night passed and morning arrived.
I raised my head to see the reflection the mirror showed. Someone finished, without any care, but with eyes sacrificed before the precariousness of the conditions in which I have lived for some time. I escaped from that place where I survive; the city has become increasingly insipid; I travel the same paths in the same way and pretend to change. The sun continues its route, but at least it observes from its distance everything that happened, happens, and will happen. The day was heavy and the burden I carry with me, I can no longer stand; I long to throw it aside, but it is attached to my being.
I found myself at the top of a building, looking at everything around me and appreciating the lights that made the night brighter than the day itself. With the wind on my face, I could feel tranquility for a moment—a moment where every worry went away and I could enjoy the peace I had in those instances where I only sat to think what would become of me. I smiled sweetly to have a personal encounter with the moon, which gradually became my faithful confidante. Tears began to well up; my thoughts could only bring back that message left for me by the one in loose clothes and tied-up hair.
"Forgive me for not asking your name. May you hear my voice in the twilight," I cried out in silence. He used to go in to buy more beer to be able to scan the landscape; long ago he had accepted that I wouldn't return, but he still kept going. Although the emotions were uncontrollable, he didn't seem to let himself be carried away. He lived day after day. He didn't look for what to do with his life; he accepted that life sought to do something with him.
I made an error that he learned beforehand: I acquired the habit of living before that of thinking. If he were in my place, he would accept the reality offered to him ; his thoughts wouldn't dwell on the value of existing or a search for meaning. To him, the existence of the universe makes no sense, and that is why those questions lack logic. His rebellion, his freedom, and his passion—everything a heart can live and feel. Too late, I was able to understand what he wanted to tell me with that message, and from a distance, I ask your forgiveness, because everything will pass, but your words will not:
"The universe is silent; let us respond like the sun".
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