I’ll tell you a secret. Not like: you will hear it in Lidl, on a bus stop with a shoddy graffiti, at your grandma’s tea party. You know…
I am lying.
And I am not talking about white lies like ‘how are you?’ ‘I’m ok’. I am really, awfully lying. Every day.
I have to tell you that I am fucking good at this. Nobody notices anything. Nobody questions my words.
I am not hesitating. My eyelid is not vibrating, my hands aren’t sweating. I don’t have pangs of conscience.
I think it’s the matter of practice and the number of repetitions.
Who is at fault? Who made me a liar? Family and church, Poland and Spain, school and university, teachers and professors, friends and shadows, colleagues and met-but-strangers-by-now. Briefly: everyone. Everyone who was whenever, wherever and however present in my life.
Everyone but me.
It’s so typical, right? But wait, don’t throw that stone with my name on it, prepared a long time ago for that exact moment. Let me finish.
What defines me is my name, surname, sex, faith, nationality, phenotype, genotype, IQ and swarm of numbers: individual identification number, zeros on my account, friends on facebook, languages, weight, relationships, age, percents in matriculation, limbs, pairs of shoes, visited countries, siblings and so on and so forth…
-Hello, my name is Emilia…
It’s a female name and I guess I was named like that because I am a woman. Whether in the definition of the word ‘woman’ are hidden those children’s years when I was growing up with two older boys, my brother and my cousin I terribly regretted that I had been born a woman?
It’s my father’s surname which, because of some reasons, is in Poland more important than my mother’s name. In Spain everyone has two surnames, after both parents. Besides, in Seville I was renamed to ‘Dolega’ because they neither have polish letters in their keyboards nor can pronounce it correctly.
-…I’m studying English…
It’s been a lot of time now since I don’t believe in the bright future after my studies. I have an impression that I am losing my time waking up to uni every day, reading stuff that I am completely not interested in and I am being petrified by the perspective of prolonging my studies in Poland after Erasmus.
-…I am 22 years old…
Is my age supposed to be an indicator of experience, maturity or knowledge? Bullshit. There are so many people older than me that I cannot listen to because my brain hurts and my faith in humanity fells so low that it begins to swim with algae of the Mariana Trench. (It happens, for example, when I am listening to ¾ of the politicians. The politician-idiot. Do you see his face, eyes and nose now? Well, that is the one that I am talking about too). I know younger persons too, to whom level I would have to climb for years, without any guarantee that I can even do so (look: Malala Yousafzai, born 1997, the youngest ever Peace Nobel Prize Winner ).
-…I like travelling and writing…
Come on, the number of people who will publically confess that they ‘hate travelling’ is as high as of those who on the cards bridge meeting would say that ‘every single card game is gambling’ or those who while going in a bus for a Barca-Real match with the Real Madrid’s supporters would start singing at the top of their lungs ‘Cant del Barça’. As human beings we have encoded the needs of acceptance and belonging, so not necessarily we blazon certain things.
Just as well I could say that ‘I like eating, sleeping and good movies’. NO SHIT. LIKE EVERYONE.
I hate writing, spending hours without a break, neglecting duties, not sleeping, revising myself over and over again, being always dissatisfied with the result and, apart from that all, imagining fame and lots of dough… and after posting my text getting three likes on fb: from nice friend, sister and dog’s profile.
-…I am a Christian.
I would like to be, to consider myself as a person who can honestly say: ‘I am Christ’s follower’, living according to commandment of love, forgiving, being warm and non-judgmental… Yeah, right.
It’s just not me. And I really could enumerate more.
But if all that things are lies… then who the hell am I?
And that’s the question that was coming to me back like a boomerang.
I feel like Voyager 1 launched years ago from the Blue Planet. At first there was a cosy, familiar home that I needed to leave behind. There is a mission. I am travelling, farther and farther away, lonely, I discover the other planets that I’d heard the stories about and then I saw them closely. And so often, too often, it was turning out that it’s not exactly like everyone had told about. I heard the stories about many moons on the sky but something utterly different was seeing them myself. I had started to question so much from the things that people recognized as the obvious facts and I met with a huge lack of understanding. But there is a mission, I cannot just stop and turn back. So I am carrying on. Not a long time ago I left the Solar System so behind myself I have everything that is known and I am aiming at the direction of the complete darkness and void.
They say that the nature abhors a vacuum so surely something is waiting for me up there. Something has to… After all there is a mission.
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