Endings. For me they always happen in the summer. I was born in the summer and although this period brings out my sunny nature, it also awakens my melancholic disposition.
New scenaria are pulling me to different directions and, suddenly, I somehow feel less fearless than I used to. Less animated. I talk less. I listen more. I question all my choices, my innate positivity disappears and under the big round sun, I am afraid I cannot shine anymore. Because I fear of things I can’t even define. And then it hits me: what if the world isn’t really my oyster and there are no shiny pearls but muddy, rainy mess everywhere?
I am always looking for answers. And I have often looked for them in improbable places: people, books, stars, substances. And right when I need a sign, I look at the time it’s just 11:13, the lights are red and I always catch my favourite song on the radio when it’s about to end.
I cannot blame the universe for not giving me the answers I need in a fortune cookie. I know that. I also know that the best books do not give you answers; they invite you to ask more questions. Better questions. And I slowly realise that I have responsibility for the questions I am asking.
Sometimes asking the right questions is the answer.