If it’s true, let’s go without insults:
The one who killed is the one killed
.He who gave the raincoat in the rain is the one under the raincoat.
He who forgave is forgiven.
“By the way, everything you have was given to you by this country,” she remarked in passing, and I was startled. I always shouted that it didn’t concern me. That I do not love her and did not choose to live here. That leaving here is not emigration, but evacuation, and that at that moment, as in my passport, the longed-for colored bruise spread, I would run away without even looking back. But it didn’t happen… Instead, something else happened. What is now. It is impossible not to confess to reality. That I have a lot to eat, for which I can and should be grateful, and that I noticed only under the threat of loss! That this country is very beautiful. And that she is alive.
That it is inhabited by all of us who, through our life activities, created with our own hands everything that is here. That we treat each other and her as we can, know how and choose. How we teach our children to live. And it feeds on our emotions and, like a mirror, reflects each of us individually and all of us together on its surface. I noticed with horror how I live. Sometimes I live in such a way that I am ashamed to remember how I offend or deceive, how I devalue what is profitable to devalue, how I complain and suffer from unimportant, insignificant nonsense, which I reduce to the rank of vital. Meanwhile, only life in principle is actually vital. And death too. How do I expect someone to “solve” everything. And it will be fine.
Only the understanding that someone “decides” and therefore is good escapes. That responsibility is such a well-worn word and its sense is so untouched that you no longer remember how it manifests itself. That the right that we have and use incorrectly, often then has us. And then I thought, what if we start all over again. After all, it is never too late. To change with small baby steps, taste it, then touch it. If only there is a sense of what is right and correct inside. And if it hurts even a little, then you can endure and continue because the excitement of creation appears, because it is easy to break, but you have to suppress the ugly feeling inside, and building is something else. A wonderful and easy feeling. Everyone knows the difference. All who have the courage not to lie to themselves.
And I begin to do these small actions, which I know for sure, will one day grow into true deeds like a snowball with the help of those who also want otherwise. I start by collecting, in my head, bag, room, relationships. And here the country is actually within easy reach. No matter how much I would like to dream that somewhere is better, or it would be better, but when the House button is clicked on the navigation of a loved one, it becomes obvious that the house is right here, and many things that each of us appreciates are also here. And now. And such a smile appears on the face. Ambiguous. A little sad, a little tired, a little wiser and understanding.
And it becomes easier to look at those around you in a new way. To those who taught me to see life differently, to drink red wine, to love saunas even in the heat, to come at dawn no longer afraid of their cold fingers, to want speed, to celebrate birthdays, to care selflessly, not to drink cognac and many, many more things of which my life is made up. And it’s all here. And then I want to Thank, Save, Love and prove it with my every smallest action, to the country that was, and is, my Home. That’s why now, at dawn, uncorking the tart wine, buying the tickets, putting things in order, I turn off the TV… and live with different thoughts, different awareness, such that I would like to hand over this House one day to those who will live here after me, with pride and joy. If you want to live, live. You don’t want it – you want it!
