Repair Station One
How to begin?
It feels like it has been forever since the last time I write and feel satisfied. I have to admit that now I consider myself quite enough loaded with so many insights I acquired from a chain of extraordinary events I recently have experienced. Maybe I am overwhelmed. And to be honest, I am afraid that the urge I feel to write something out of all that was going to be a misleading desire only to feed my ego and prove a pretentious quality of myself (let’s say, to appear wise or just to sound decent) to I don’t know who. I’d really hate to declare such heavy and serious matter like I have finally seen God after years in the dark, or that I have awakened and resurrected from living the miserable life of my dying soul. Because even if it does strongly feel like it, maybe I haven’t. And then such claims would only end as a shameful take I could never remove in my future. But on the other hand, again, I’m only trying to be honest and I see no harm in recording what I think is important for my own growth and well-being. So then, I write.
There is this intersection near my house which happened to be crossed by two lanes of the commuter railway. The station in the neighborhood is a small one, but the line is quite busy. Considering that there are six roads mouthed directly to this exact spot, you may imagine how chaotic the crossroads can be, especially during rush hours. And taking into account that I live in a social-economically classified mid-low part of the city, things can get very brutal and hostile, just to get across the railway. The motorbikes lining in opposite lanes, the horns honking, the stone-headed bikers using no helmet with children and babies on board, the yelling and curses. Sometimes I think of this place as a hellhole. Then I notice how often the crossing of this railway gets ruined due to the heavy stream of vehicles passing each day. And from time to time, the government poured a new layer of asphalt on top of the last only to be destroyed in months, or even weeks later. Repaired, destroyed, repaired, and destroyed. When we talk about money and work, it might not be the most efficient solution to the problem. But maybe that’s the best way we all can offer for now — to fix the damage that is the most viable within our reach. I think the same of myself. I have to surrender to the capacity I contain to surmount certain load of challenge and hardships at once. Thus, I have to accept that every once in a while, I would be needing some time to tune up, to heal what’s been broken and to learn what I could from life; that it might not be the most sufficient solving to the situation, but it is the best way I know for the time being.
It hits me pretty hard recently that I might have been doing things out of the wrong reasons all this time. I’ve always wanted to touch other people’s lives while I haven’t been able to have a grip of my own. I have realized for the thousandth time, the ridiculous amount of energy I squander on things that are outside of me and my authority, to be able to recognize the omnipresence of the good and the peace when it’s grown within the self. And all our lives, for as far as I can understand, we will spend searching for the true meaning of the good. And, if one may believe, perhaps there’s where God rests, along the way in direction of the good each of us pursues. Sometimes we cannot help but admit that the journey has been and will always be terrifying because we humans are vulnerable to time. We age; our days, numbered. How nice can it be if we know how much time we have left? Maybe we will learn of life faster, do more meaningful things, and end up a better person. But who’s to say? In this only reality we’re living, there is more wisdom to mysteries than humility in knowledge.
Maybe we shall not worry too much. Because as we master particular skills in life, it is the same way of learning how to live. First, we do what we can. Next, we try what we want. Then, we rely on doing things because we understand how it’s done. Except, there is no real degree of a master in living. But again, we shall not worry. Because if we’re lucky enough, we will find love. The love that is close, the love that is distant, the love that is warm, the love that is cold, the love that stays, the love that doesn’t. And as much as I can apprehend from my short experience in life, it doesn’t matter. Near or far, big or small, brief or not; as long as it’s pure, it is love and it’s the greatest thing to have.
It’s beyond nice to know that in some moment, someone out there does love you; that someone out there is appreciating your very existence. And not because you’re pretty, not because you’re famous, not because you’re rich, not because you’re intelligent, but because they can always see the good in your heart. Sometimes it’s hard to shun the bad voices in your head, sometimes it’s hard to have faith in that beautiful and delightful bit you have in you. But this someone somehow manages to bring that part out of you, or at least, to convince you that it is still there — despite the wrong decisions you make, despite the ugly choices you take, you are still a hopeful, growing soul, in the making of a better self. And I guess knowing that is enough. The world and the future become less scary because you know in your very own search for definition of the good, you will make more mistakes. And, as long as you are mindful, it will be easier to forgive and sustain the peace within yourself. The mistakes will worth the lessons, and this journey, an unspeakable blessing.
