an aiming to be designer, with the soul of a writer

Tag: freedom

It Was – Simply – A Matter of Blindness

I’ve been struggling with a thought for a while.

After being away from the one I allowed to cause me the massive heartbreak I mentioned on My Very Own Hard Way to Self-Forgiveness for almost two years, lately, I was feeling slightly inclined to check on his online life. I resisted – a lot, I must confess. I thought it’d be a terrible choice, since I’d probably want to recover everything I thought we had. So, I was always saying to myself: Amy, you don’t want to do this to yourself. Not again.

Yet, today, I gave in. I truly did, even knowing what it could do to me. I gave in, in spite of being aware of the shock that would, doubtless, attain me. I confess that I didn’t seem to succeed in holding on resistance anymore. I was, actually, feeling the need to have, at least, a small idea of how he’s been doing.

In a way that looked completely weird and unexpected to me, things quite didn’t happen the way I suppose they would.

The first sign of weirdness and that a lot of time had gone by since I left him was that I didn’t remember the name of his online page. I truly had to search, and search, and search [almost dig, to be honest] in my brain to find the name, and, consequently, the page.

The second evident sign was that I didn’t feel like crying nor my heart ache [things that always happened, before].

The third sign of everything but normality. Well, I must confess that the whole page kinda freaked me out. [haha, I know I don’t usually write like that, but that was the most sincere way of explaining the moment]

I truly felt scared for the things I was seeing, related to the one that used to be my home. [Just remembering, there was one or another time I’ve felt scared, but – as always – I made the whole set look just fine] I felt exactly as if I had entered a horror movie without being properly warned, or as if I was watching a weird scene at a thriller. The kind of thing that leaves you uncomfortable, you know?

I wandered through his photos, obviously, and each and every single one of them led me to the same thought: “this guy is so lost”. To say the truth, he was already weird when we met but, as time went by, he got worse. The tenderness of his look that I knew so well is simply… gone. I did everything I could while we were together – more than what I should have done, probably – but I did it. So, nothing represents a weight in my consciousness.

Anyway, I couldn’t avoid thinking about who I was, back then. I really thought about that girl who devoted to him in a way she shouldn’t have, the girl who is also gone.

I simply wonder how she could find hope in someone who she knew that was falling apart, how she felt he was home, how she turned him in the center of her existence.

I wonder how she couldn’t see the truth, in all the times she said her life would never be bearable again, because she’d lost him once and for all. I wonder why she did it all. I wonder how could she hide the truth to her own eyes, pretend everything was just fine, devastating herself in order not to upset him with her opinions, thoughts and actions.

And, of course, I still think that is relatively weird for me to say that if he ever needed anything, regretted of his own choices and wanted to be a different, better person, I’d be around – in the friend zone, obviously, because unlike her, I know that’s not a healthy option and it’s not the best thing for me; but I’d be there to help him.

Well, she didn’t know how life would be without him and, also, she wouldn’t even suspect how free she’d feel when, finally, she could be able to do what she actually wanted to, without worrying about his opinion.

I can’t say that love, in general, has blind people as main characters. What I can say – exactly because I’ve been there – is that this case was, doubtless, a matter of blindness.

I confess that I had been quite nostalgic before seeing who he is now, remembering the past and the like… But, I also must confess that when I saw it and grasped the reality, I became utterly sure that the story wasn’t, at all, meant to be, and that I didn’t need to put myself in that sort of situation again.

Maybe resisting wasn’t the best move. Maybe what I really needed was to know that the one I had in my memories was actually gone. Probably, what I truly needed was to see reality as it is, and not through my charming, dream effect lenses.

Yes, I may be right this time. Watching all that made me see that I don’t want it. Not anymore. And, that way, I feel way more relieved.

So, from now on, no more haunting dates, no more haunting feelings. No more sense of weirdness. None of those things.

From now on, it’s just me, starting over. A little later than what it was supposed to be, but way more mature than before.

Almost Subtle Changes

Well, now there is no way I can possibly deny it: I actually did what I mentioned in my last post, And There Was A Click About Life.

I did threw a bucket of ink here, and painted it all white. It’s quite refreshing, ha?! I do feel good with the change!

Now, since it looks quite impersonal, I’m working on a header image. It will be a hard choice, but it will look even better!

And There Was a Click About Life

Sometimes, I think everything could actually be different.

When I truly think about my existence, there’s a lot I find that quite doesn’t make sense. It seems like I’m always doing things in order not to upset others, not to hurt them, not to let them down, not to shock them. Yes, always them. It seems like I’m not doing a thing for myself. And when I try to, I always think about how they will react.

If we really examine this wisely, we’ll see that I’m the fool that’s always too worried about others to worry about herself.

At certain points of my existence, I honestly feel like a complete fake: I can’t stand saying exactly what I think, and get a terrific feed-back. I always did it, one or two years ago, when I truly didn’t care about anyone. At college, things are quite different, and I just didn’t want to make enemies at the first shot. I wanted to be sociable, to talk to people. Therefore, I absolutely couldn’t say that, at first, I only seemed to like one or two people of my class.

I honestly wonder why I choose the Arts field. No, I was not pleasing someone, since all my colleagues chose Sciences, and I was also going to leave the school. I remember the first poems I wrote, but I can’t remember the day I woke up and wanted to be an architect, or why I chose it. I just can’t.

But here is the point: sometimes I think that my life could be exactly what I want it to be. And that feeling brings me a whole new sense of freedom. Not that I know what I want but, just knowing that this can be what I want makes everything better.

Sometimes at the train, I just stare at that blue, magnificent sea, take a breath and smile. I know that I can be different, if I try. I think that I could run a fashion magazine and have a nice touch computer on the table of my office, like those we see on TV. I think I actually could be appreciated by who I am and what I do, as long as I’m committed to it.

Sometimes I even think about throwing a bucket of ink at this blog, and paint it all white. I know that someday I’ll just lose my mind and do it.

[So yes, I think that, in a short period of time, I’ll just do what modernists did in the beginning of 20th century: face design as true commitment, and not just as a thing to spare time]