I have chosen the specific title for my text today, following my thoughts on a philosophical matter i kept in mind, which i would like to share. As we are born free human beings in life and we feel that no one has the right to interfere to our affairs or personal life or thoughts and beliefs, we need to be ourselves. Aren't we? Then why do people adopt other people's opinions or agree with them, with such easiness, just to be liked by them or gain their confidence? Do they feel being themselves when they act in "hypocrisy?" Don't they see the fact that they are sacrificing themselves and their ideals? Isnt it a better sacrifice to be yourself? Do you need so much other's approval?
-last night i had a dream. -..... -i dreamed i was a butterfly. -..... -nothing. I stood still... -...... -the window opened... -..... -freedom!
I've always been creative and loved making something with my own hands. My speciality was handmade cards, that everyone was just delighted with. I made them in a unique way - I probably put in them more of my childlike soul than I could bear. Everyone always said that my postcards have some kind of special power to instantly warm the soul and cheer up the person. People valued them more than any other purchased postcard or gift, which gave me great pleasure. It was more than just a hobby for me - I lived by it. While making a postcard, I always imagined how joyful the person I would give it to would feel. But at some point it all had stopped. I was involved in professional sports and I didn't have enough time for anything extra. It coincided with me being in my teens, so, naturally, I was not thinking about the design and contents of postcards. My head was occupied with myself and my future. This year, around mid-March I was in extreme anxiety because of a summative assignment of mine in physics. Why was I agitated? Because I was in 10th grade, which meant that I was just a year away from college enrollment and I ought to have excellent grades for my GPA. At that fertile days when life was in full swing, streets were changing from buoyant to sleepy, but have never stopped, my thoughts were the same, same mad and incessant. My head was stuck with a myriad of “to do” lists. My life was in a constant motion and rush that I even forgot to keep contact with my relatives that I don't see that often. It can be bizarre, but my neighbors are my relatives: my grandma, uncle, auntie and little cousin who live just a floor above. Unbeknownst to me, I stopped caring about people close to me like I did in childhood, when I wanted to make everyone happy. All of a sudden, everything changed. My uncle suddenly got sick and despite our high hopes, he was diagnosed with COVID-19 and there was no room for him in the hospital. He was told to go to IVs every morning and isolate himself from everyone. Fortunately, their family had just bought a new apartment, a floor below ours, and my uncle moved in there so as not to infect his family. Thus, he was left all alone, sick, in a freshly bought, unequipped and lonely apartment. My uncle is a very reserved man by nature. If I ever ask him how he is doing and add a multitude of emojis to the message, he would reply with a dry "I'm okay" at best, but in most cases he simply may not answer. Therefore, when he fell ill, no matter how much I texted him, he wouldn't answer, since he was far from the phone. At those dreadful moments I didn't think about anything except my uncle. I didn't know how to help him. I felt like a child again with a deep desire to somehow mitigate his pain, suffering and loneliness. And it was then that I remembered about my childhood passion - making special postcards that have the unique power to emotionally heal and make people feel warmth, thereby showing that I'm close, although, in fact, I'm not. So, I cooked my uncle's favorite dish, laid it out in different plastic food containers and pasted animal-shaped stickers with warm wishes on each one. Then I went downstairs to hang a bag of food on the front door handle and in a second I was already back home. I couldn't believe it, but the next day, when my mother brought the containers back, my stickers were still there, but on the adhesive side there was something scribbled down: “Thank you. I hope you will bring me lunch every day.” With a smiley face at the end. But I understood that it was not about food. Since then, every day has passed like this: I left notes on food containers for my uncle, but now I received the notes back with a grateful response, and I definitely felt warmth and reciprocity from them. Fortunately, my uncle recovered soon after. I felt that I recovered with him, namely, it seemed the deceased childlike part of me was reborn. Thanks to that child's innocence, eagerness to help, devoid of any anger and negativity, everyone smiled and felt their problems alleviated, even just for a moment. I realized that our fast evolving world tempts us to chase after everything new and trendy and beckons us with its mellifluous scent so that we set the wrong priorities in life and forget about the most important things. I now definitely know that I'll continue my special “business” of making my unique postcards and teach this extraordinary art to my children. Behind that childish hobby is hidden a true path to salvation from the present, which intoxicates us and makes us completely forget about past values. Thus, a sudden outbreak of a terrible disease, no matter how contradictory it may sound, saved both my uncle and me. It dawned on me that my WhatsApp messages would never be deposited in my uncle's head, but something will remain in his heart for life: he'll always remember my notes on food containers, endowed with hope for salvation and happiness.
