Scars Part III

“Did you see what happened today? It was amazing, Dad — for the first time, I felt like myself. Okaaaay, I know it’s not easy to understand — it’s hard to grasp the kind of magic that happens there, and I don’t even know if I can put it into words — but it’s like being at peace with that damn torment that’s part of our DNA. When …

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Scars Part II

The lights would go out.

The stage, painted black, would sink even deeper into darkness—harder to touch, harder to feel, harder to live in.

The lights I’d wished would stay on… would go out.

I, who couldn’t wait to explode was now pale and uncertain, my breathing quick and shallow—like one of Santa’s elves realizing he’d forgotten to…

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Close but never Close enough Part II

And that’s how I understood that if I truly wanted to live, I had to start writing — I had to start remembering: who had always been there, who had left me, who hadn’t understood me, who had loved me, who had shared, and who had erased me; to recognize who had slapped me, and who had healed the wounds that wounds had …

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Growing Up Part III

And that’s when you realize it’s Love you’re looking for now—through Tantrums that mix with Revenge. The battles you fight with everything you have, so you can find Love—in every person you meet, in everything you do, in every goal you set your mind to, in every new Dream.

That’s where you’d return: to re-live the afternoons …

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—My Head throws them all the time.—

Head: “Listen here, you hibernating turtle-heart, I don’t do anything!! It’s you guys who’ve been throwing tantrums since the day I met you!! I’m the one holding you back. I’m the reason you’re still standing, don’t forget it! Without me you wouldn’t even exist! And let…

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Hearing the Sound - part II

Prince Charming on his white horse, the one who flatters you, buys you flowers, opens the car door for you, cares whether or not you’re okay, wants you to be happy, wants you to fulfill your dreams. Well, guess what?! Prince Charming doesn’t exist.

Friends—those who tell you “I love you so much” and then suddenly you …

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Hearing the Sound - Part III -

I never thought I could face life, head-on, I mean. I always thought, as all the Humans I’ve met confirmed it, that I’d let events live me, and i was just a passive form sentence, using enough force just to stay upright, but nothing more.

How do I explain this? Ah, yes!

Do you remember those “Parent–Teacher Conferen…

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The Day I Have Found a Friend Part II

We forget those who loved us, who held our hand, who saved us, who involved us, who taught us to smile, who made us laugh, who never abandoned us.

We don’t forget those who hurt us, who shook us, who condemned us, who confused us, who overwhelmed us, who stunned us, who executed us.

Memory, like Time: a bunch of crap.

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Respect your own Vital Space Part II

The list of Excuses I heard just hours ago was the same old list, and as my Head rightly says, I persevered, I listened, I observed, I thanked him for the time he had “dedicated” me, and even apologized for having disturbed him.

Head:“Unbelievable!! Aren’t you ashamed?! I’m going to pretend I’m not your Head! I want a transfer!!”

List of Excuses from the Man-Who-Is-Not-A-Man I’ve encountered over the years:

1. “I like you, but right now I absolutely have no time for you. I just can’t afford to be distracted by anyone.”
   
   — No worries, really, I wouldn’t distract you. I can wait outside the office all day and bring you breakfast, lunch, and dinner, okay? Do you need me to drop off your dry cleaning? I’ll do it right away—
   
   Head:“Oh, for God’s sake!! Standing outside in the cold while he chews up and swallows your Dignity—that’s where it went!! Bring him breakfast??!! Sure, three-week-old eggs! The dry cleaner??!! Why don’t you just lie down on the floor and let him walk all over you so he doesn’t dirty his precious shoes?!”
   

2. “It’s not you, it’s me. I’m just too messed up.”
   
   — I know, but I’ll wait, patiently, until you sort everything out. In fact, if you ever need to talk, I’m here. Even at night, at any hour. Call me. I’ll be here—
   
   Head:“Excuse me???!! Too messed up?! The only thing he’s messed up about is confusing the names of all the women he’s seeing!! You clueless fool!!”

3. “I just ended an important relationship. Even though we’d only been seeing each other a few weeks, she could have been the woman of my life, you know? I just can’t risk it again, can’t afford to get hurt.”
   
   — Of course I understand. I’d never hurt you; I’m not that kind of person. I just want to distract you and make you happy—
   
   Head:“Distract you and make you happy?? Distract you from what?? This one distracts himself just fine, trust me!! And make you happy??!! Do you even know his last name??!! What tricycle did you fall off as a child??!!”

4. “I already told you I didn’t want anything serious. That means that if we happen to run into each other somewhere, we can still say hello. We’re friends, right?”
   
   —Yes, of course, you told me that. You’re right, I was wrong. Obviously, yes, we’re friends. If we see each other, we’ll say hello—of course. Actually, I wanted to thank you for everything and tell you that if you ever need me, I’ll always be there—
   
   Head:“I can’t even comment on this one. This one needs the wisdom of some enlightened psychiatrist. It’s too much, even for me.”
   

5. “You’re too much for me right now. I need fun, and you’re not fun. I’ll reach out when I need someone heavier, okay?”
   
   —Of course, I understand. I really am a bit heavy, but I can be fun, I promise! Just give me the chance to prove it. I won’t talk about myself, don’t worry! The last thing I’d want is to bore you or be a burden—
   
   Head:“You must be kidding, right??? Do you even know what ‘I need fun’ means?? Do I really have to spell it out?? Come on, think a little… just a little.”
   

6. “You have too many things to sort out. I need a woman who’s as good as my mother. You can’t even cook!”
   
   —No, but actually I can cook, it’s just that since I don’t really have a reason, I don’t do it often. I’d really love to meet your mother, though. She could be my example—
   
   Head:“No, no, no! He tells you that you’re supposed to be his mother, and you reply that you’d like to meet her so you can learn from her?! Are you serious??!! What the hell is wrong with you?? And cooking—you?? Hahaha, come on, give me a break! YOU’RE PATHETIC.”
   

7. “How old did you say you are? You want kids in ten years? Well, look, I’m not planning on having more children—especially not that soon. I’ve already done my part! Now I just want to think about myself and enjoy my first fifty years.”
   
   —No, of course, I’m younger than you, but I’m very mature. And no, I don’t want children. I mean, not now. Maybe later, we’ll see. And if you don’t want them, that’s fine too. Your children will be my children. Maybe we’ll get a dog… no?
   
   Head:“Did you catch that he’s FIFTY?? Just saying. He’s ‘already done his part,’ sure, poor little smoked idiot!! And you—where the hell do you fit into this??!! ‘Your children will be my children’? Absolutely not, sweetheart! His kids are his kids—thank God! And a dog??!! What dog?? The dog would be the first to run away from him—and from you, frankly. Are you sure you didn’t leave your neurons along with your Dignity in the pit of that idiot’s stomach??!!”
   

8. “Hello? Who? Oh… sorry, yes, now I remember… I’m abroad for work. Let’s catch up when I’m back—in a few years, okay?”
   
   —Yes, it’s me. Okay, it’s nice to hear from you, thanks for answering. Oh right, you’re abroad, sorry to bother you! Okay, maybe I’ll call you next week, just to see how things are going—
   
   Head:“Um, sweetheart, he hung up five minutes ago. You’re talking to yourself. Please hang up that phone—please, I can’t handle this!”
   

   And now, here’s a gem to add to the list—lived, erased, resurfaced, erased again, but still burning whenever Memory decides to bring it back.

9. “You’re the one who makes me violent. You’re crazy—you imagine things. I can’t go out with anyone because you’re anxious… all my friends say you’re insane! I do whatever I want, you’re jealous of everyone! My wife never gave me trouble in twenty years, so don’t think you can! Get yourself a life! Stop looking for my approval in everything! Grow up!! And start realizing that you’re worth nothing. Stop thinking you’re smarter than everyone else! You claim you’ve Lived, but you haven’t lived a damn thing!! You didn’t achieve your dreams? Well, ask yourself why!! I work all day, and at night I want peace. Actually, here’s what you can do: go grocery shopping, my friends, my ex-wife, and my kids are coming over for dinner and the fridge is empty!! By the way, did you pay the bills? They’re in your name, so that’s your responsibility. And the rent?! I don’t have the time to worry about your crap, let alone pay for all of it—I’ve got two kids to support! What the hell did you do all day???!!! And tonight, don’t you dare make a scene. Clear the table and tidy up, I’ll cook, and you’ll take care of the rest. Oh, and I’m telling you now: I’m going out after dinner, and if I don’t come back, that’s none of your business. My daughter will sleep in our room and you’ll sleep in hers! She needs stability. Get yourself a job and stop dreaming—you’re not capable of anything!!”
   
   —I replied to those words so many times—defending myself, defending him, trying to understand. I cried, I threw up my Disappointment, my Self-Esteem, and even my Dignity. But now I have forgotten it all. Because the Psychological Violence I suffered devastated me so much that I chose to erase it—
   
   Head:“And in doing so, you wasted your breath, your years—years that will never return. And it seems you’ve learned nothing. If it had been up to me, I’d have smashed his ego with a well-aimed kick where it hurts, but you were so far gone you couldn’t think straight! Do you still believe it was your fault? I tried to make you see, tried to tell you that a Man who loves does not destroy… but no, you wouldn’t listen to anyone. You almost made me pity you… but actually, no, I didn’t! What you should do is learn, and stop persevering and begging for affection from someone who has no intention of giving it—especially from someone who took everything from you. And he’ll never stop, because he is the human being farthest from both Man and Humane that you and I ever stumbled across. Only you—you tried to break me. But I am tougher than you think!”
   
   — Don’t exaggerate!
   
   Head:“I’m not exaggerating!! You’re the one who needs to learn—stop preserving and begging for affection from someone who has no intention whatsoever of giving it to you!”
   

10. No more Excuses. For now.

I, who was worth no more than an Excuse—Unasked for, and certainly Unwanted.

My Vital Space that couldn’t go back to the “House in New Orleans and spend his life beneath the Risin’ Sun”1. My Vital Space I still hadn’t figured out how to reach.

That need for Space we all carry within us—but when disguised as an Imposition or an Excuse to erase you, because you’re too much or too little, it turns into an immense Black Hole in the Heart.

Have you ever desired someone without truly knowing him? Have you ever hurt yourself knowing full well you were going to get hurt? Have you ever believed in something so deeply that, even though it didn’t exist, you lived it anyway—inside yourself? Have you ever felt rejected without a real reason? Felt as though you were never Worthy of being lived?

For Miguel, the “Place” is essential. For the Diseases I’ve met through the years, too. Only none of them ever wished to share that damn “Place” with me. Not one of them had the Courage to live me for more than a few minutes. Maybe that’s why I began this journey—to finally meet my Self, speak with it, hold its hand—or perhaps tie it down, so I don’t risk losing it again—in order to understand whether it does or does not want to wear heels and Rise.

Maybe all of this is meant to “wake me up,” as my Head says.

My Head, which had thrown in the towel, because the Need for Love was making its way through the Heart, confusing Lust with Sentiment.

The Heart, which always spoke—but softly, so as not to disturb.

Its need for Space, which carried it away from me.

My need to enter His Space, which slammed the door in my face.

His refusal to want me anymore, which forced me to step back after having come too close.

When you approach the fire once, you burn yourself—but you try again, until the burn erases the unique marks of your skin and becomes a scar. A scar that transforms everything into something incomprehensible, like words on a page blurred by tears: unreadable.

The Scars of the Heart, which today had decided to speak.

Heart:“I believe in you. Don’t worry—I’ll always be here.”

Head:“Oh stop it, Heart!! You’re making me anxious!!”

And so, together with the Head, the Heart joined me in this long journey toward my Self. Its softer, gentler voice was the only one that could soothe the Anxiety of not fitting into anyone’s plans. Not even my own.

I, who feel Fire on my skin even when it’s snowing outside.

I, who fall in Love with anyone who smiles while looking into my eyes.

I, who must learn to Love myself.

I, who have decided to begin again.

At twenty-one.

Like a child discovering the world for the first time.

This page is not like the others. There are no doors that can be opened with the keys of the Heart, only doors slammed, shut in my face. But maybe, well, maybe that’s better. Maybe that’s the only way for me to start living. Again.

The Green Door — Part III

I wandered through the city’s vast streets, through parks that looked like they’d been drawn by hand, among skyscrapers that kissed the sun on the cheek, through a thousand different cultures, all of which had always fascinated me and through enchanted books and enchanting characters.

I wandered, because walking was the only way…

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The Green Door — Part II

We left off with my body having tested nearly every type of floor at school: from the shiny wood parquet at the entrance, to the black-painted wood of the classroom’s stage. I hadn’t yet tasted the ceramic tiles in the bathroom or the dark wood of the upstairs classrooms. (We newbies weren’t allowed up there yet, so before I could faint in those classes too, I would have had to wait a little longer — and I must say, I wasn’t upset about that at all.)

I have to be honest: it took me a while to recover from my “Drunken-Improv” episode. It was as if I were in a hangover, as if I’d passed out in a barrel of beer: every time I tried not to think about it, that scene — almost tragicomic — would crash into my memory: my body, sprawled across the black floor, with my legs in one direction and the rest in the other… it wasn’t a pleasant image; quite the opposite, actually. That’s when you start to realize that movies — the ones that shaped your entire existence — are nothing like real life.

Have you ever seen someone faint in a movie? They do it so gracefully, and they’re always so good-looking that, when it happens to you, you think you must be graceful and beautiful too — you think you’ll slowly lower yourself to the ground, like a rose petal carried away by the wind. And there it is: the moment you realize you’re anything but that rose petal.

No, there are no rose petals. No, you’re not gently blown away by the wind. No, you’re not graceful as you glue yourself to the floor. No, you’re not graceful at all — you’re a garbage truck lifting trash bins and slamming their contents into the compactor. No, you’re not charming. No, you’re not a rose petal: you’re a garbage truck.

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The Yellow Door — Part III

The energy.

The adrenaline.

The fire.

The Yellow Door.

The Courage I may have forgotten… not on the nightstand, not on the school desks, but in the closet, with all those clothes that are now too big, and I can’t wear anymore.

Anxiety steps in:

Anxiety: “Hi darling, I’m YourOldFriendAnxiety. Your dear and beloved Courage has taken a year off—poor thing, he really needed it — so I’m stepping in. Hope you don’t mind…”

—No, no, don’t worry, do whatever you want guys!! Of course I mind! The last thing I need is a full immersion in the only emotion that’s never left me! Damn creature, you should’ve taken a year off!!—

To improvise means to faint, in your doubts, in your pain, in your torment.

To improvise means to faint, in your thoughts, in your dreams.

To improvise means to faint. Period.

“He’s calling you!! Move!”

-Uhm, look, sweetheart, let’s say I won’t answer you today because I wouldn’t even know how. But if you keep telling me what to do, I swear, I’ll answer in my own language — which, yes, you don’t understand, but trust me, today you’ll understand every word. Because when I get mad, I speak TheUniversalLanguage! (Unlike you, by the way, whose place in the world I still can’t figure out, and every time you speak, you glue letters together as if a broken intercom got lodged in your throat.)

And by the way, I don’t think you even introduced yourself. You just jumped — literally jumped — into the seat next to mine, like an earthquake. No heads-up, no “Hi, can I sit here?”, just your body and your stuff spreading all over my space.

So, darling, let’s try to be nice and polite, because after my “My-Full-On-Panic-Moment”, it’s your turn… And I, dear “MissPiggyNose”, will be in the front row watching, minutely, as you puke all that self-confidence — which by then will have turned into performance anxiety!-

Okay, okay… I didn’t say that out loud. But trust me, my Thoughts made it to that one uncertain neuron of hers. The one endlessly spinning on a Ferris wheel without knowing why, inside its little plastic cage — where it was locked up, because he was left alone. Alone, the poor little neuron, left there… to improvise.

She looked down and shut her mouth, “MissPiggyNose”.

— All right, it’s my turn now —

I stand up.

I walk toward the stage.

And the closer I get, the farther it seems.

The more I move, the more it fades.

— What kind of weird game is thi… my head is spinning…—

I manage to grab onto the edge of the stage.

Three steps: The steps of Shame.

That’s what I named them.

One. Two. Three.

I take four steps toward the center stage.

One. Two. Three. Four.

I turn my back to the audience.

The light hits like a sharp knife, straight into my pupils.

The big eyes that genetics kindly granted me.

The eyes that speak more than any other part of my body.

The black-painted wooden stage.

The white light.

A man stands in front of me. Tall. Handsome — I think. I can’t really see him, with the light in my eyes. The white light, in my big eyes. In front of the Yellow Door.

One. Two. Three. Breathe.

One. Two.

—Ooh, how pretty… fireflies… wait, no, they can’t be fireflies, it’s not possible to see fireflies in a classroom, right?!?!—

Three. Four.

The steps. The creaking sound of the wood.

In front of the Yellow Door.

One. Two. Thr…

To improvise means to faint.

To improvise, the self-confidence I’ve never had.

The Strength I left in the kitchen, on the table, beside the coffee cups.

The Courage that went on vacation.

To Improvise means to faint.

I open my eyes, okay, no — I’m not dead, I see a hand. Maybe it’s a hand. I’m not sure. It looks like a hand, a hand reaching out to me, I try to grab it — but strength fails me. I close my eyes again. Yes, maybe it’s better to pretend I’m dead. Yes. Dead is always the answer.

Trust went on vacation too, I think — with Courage.

That hand, still reaching out to me.

I open my eyes again.

I grab his hand.

I feel strength coming back.

I feel courage becoming visible.

Courage is right here, in front of me.

—Welcome back, Courage…—

I breathe.

One foot. One leg. My arm. My hand.

I breathe. Again.

The stage.

The stage of Shame, with it’s creaking steps.

In front of the Yellow Door.

The Yellow Door.

The Door of Courage.

The Yellow Door of Energy I didn’t know I had,

The Yellow Door of Strength I left on the kitchen table,

The Yellow Door of Trust that had an expiration date, like chocolate chip cookies, with the date written on the back of the bag.

Like chocolate chip cookies, trust expires too.

The Yellow Door, the hand you have to grab if you want to learn how to walk again. But you’re on a ride, sitting in the “flying chair”, and you have to catch the teddy bear bouncing around, you’re about to catch it but it slips away.

In an instant.

The teddy bear, like the hand trying to save you.

That hand that slips away like a teddy bear.

The Yellow Door, a mirror.

A mirror that shows you who you are. Nobody cares anymore whether you like what you see. Nobody cares if your thighs seem too big or if they’ve become invisible. Nobody cares if your face hides behind your thoughts, those thoughts trying to redesign it, that face that never seems to represent you. Nobody cares if the terror in your big eyes — the ones genetics gave you — makes your hands shake, your arms, and your legs, until you can’t feel them anymore.

You slip.

You melt.

You sink.

Downward, toward the painted black wood.

You slide.

You collapse.

Eyes closed. Because, sometimes, it’s better to close your eyes than to witness what you’ve become. Because you wouldn’t want to see yourself. Because “seeing” means remembering — and remembering is the last thing you want to do.

To improvise means taking everything inside you and letting it go — into the world out there.

To improvise, on stage, Life.

To improvise means giving yourself permission to be someone else.

Because here, you can be anything. You can see anyone you wish, in your face. You can touch anyone you want, in your body. You can love anyone you want, in your heart.

To improvise means falling asleep, and waking up being someone else.

To improvise means, once you’re back to reality, finding the strength to grab that hand that’s reaching for you — that blurry hand, just like that guardian angel who’s protecting the Light, that hand protects you and gives you permission to exist.

And it was exactly when I first started to improvise, that I fainted.

“That’s how I fainted, how I slipped onto the stage painted black, in front of the Yellow Door. The Yellow Door of Courage. That same courage I had lost and then found again, in that firm hand i had grasped with effort. The Firm Hand that lifted me from the ground. That’s how I fainted and how I stood back up. That’s how I gave myself permission to no longer be invisible. That’s how I lifted myself off the ground, grasping that firm hand, crossing, no longer alone. The Red Door, that had turned Yellow. That’s how I stood back up, improvising my invisible world, turned visible once more. That’s how I’ve been saved, saved by a hand, Improvising Myself.”

🎧 Listen to the narrated version “The Mirror & the Mask”

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The Yellow Door — Part II

That doesn’t mean: Fake it, like I’ve always thought.

No, it doesn’t mean Fake it.

It doesn’t mean Live randomly.

To improvise means: breathe, step on to the stage, turn around, look past the red velvet seats and…faint.

To improvise means fainting in the visible world and enter the invisible one—the world only you know. The world you’re afraid to show others. The world you try to protect, even though you’ll never be good enough to truly guard it. You’ll never be “good” enough to take care of your Invisible world forever—because the time will come when you’ll have to let it go. And when that moment comes, you won’t be ready. No, you won’t be ready at all.

When we protect someone we love, we think we’re doing the best thing we can. However, in that “Doing-the-best-thing-we-can”, slowly—very slowly—something evil begins to grow and it turns into:

“I have absolutely no idea what the hell is out there, in that visible world I’m watching from behind the window.”

Because out there, we’re alone, and we have to improvise. We’re alone and we have to learn how to read life, how to sign a lease, how to turn on utilities, how to manage expenses, how to use a washing machine, how NOT to use a washing machine. Raise your hand if you’ve never thrown a wool sweater in and magically pulled out a bikini.

The washer: a drunk magician’s hat.

We’re alone and we must make mistakes in order to learn how to improvise —apparently— We’re alone and feel the need to punch life in the face.

It’s the loneliness that makes us, inevitably, invisible.

To improvise in the visible world—the invisible one.

The invisible world that becomes visible.

—This is a catastrophe... If I can’t grasp it, I doubt you will…—

I’ll try to be clearer: improvising is when you think you have nothing to say, nothing to tell—when you think you can’t speak—and instead, you find yourself screaming, in silence.

Have you ever screamed in silence? I have because I’ve always hated people who yell. (My hearing system forced me to learn how to scream in silence. Screaming in silence is improvising.)

It’s in what we leave unsaid that we reveal ourselves.

It’s in the unspoken that we find each other.

It’s in the secret glances that love happens.

It’s in hands reaching for each other that we know our existence has a meaning.

It’s in the rhythm of our heartbeat that we choose to exist.

It’s in the silence of our voices—those we hear when nobody’s around—that we choose to resist.

Falling means being forced to improvise. To lift yourself off the ground takes strength. To lift yourself off the ground takes energy. To lift yourself off the ground takes courage. To lift yourself off the ground—and take that hand that’s reaching out—takes trust.

It takes strength, energy, courage, a hand reaching out and trust.

It also takes two hearts, beating together, like a melody, choosing to take care for each other.

To improvise means to exist.
To exist means to live.
To live means to risk.
To risk means to resist.
To resist means to rise.

Randall: “Are you ready?”

—Ready in what sense? No way, you’re not talking to me… you’re not looking at me… I think…—

MissPiggyNose: “Hey, he’s talking to you!”

—Who? No way!! Or maybe yes… no, no, I’m not ready! I can’t even understand what you’re saying, let alone be ready to go on sta—

Three words. That’s all it took to make me fall, again.

Are-you-ready

Simple and short, two words without inflated meaning, but they can be brutal, ambiguous, uncertain, depending on context. Words and their million faces.

—No, no, no, I’m not ready! Call the girl in the back with the braids! The one with the “I’mSoSoSoSoReady” face!!—

(Okay, no, I didn’t actually say that. I could never. Because the language is still a mess for me, despite my very noticeable jaw, and because when they were handing out confidence, I was in line for sensitivity.)

Yes, I know, I’ve always been the opposite of what I wanted to be. The opposite of everything—in Life, and in all the tests Life (that bitch) has flung at me like flaming darts.

To improvise and to be the opposite of everything. I’ve never truly been ready. Not even when I said I was. Not even when I thought I was. Not even when I “prepared”myself—because I knew I had to be ready.

Improvising when you don’t even know who you are yet. Improvising with or without words—just your body moves and calls for action. Nothing else is involved. And what if the body is frozen? Frozen from the cold that your loneliness has passed into your heart? What if your body can’t feel your nerves? What happens then? If your body can’t feel your muscles or the gentle touch of another body? What happens, huh? What happens if you’ve lost your words and can’t move? How do you improvise?!

Have you ever been there? Have you ever lost your words? Have you ever been paralyzed in front of ThatBitchLife? The kind of paralysis that doesn’t show—but it’s in you.

Improvising, in front of that door. That door that turned Yellow -because we’re in class, and in class, all doors are Yellow.

🎧 Listen to the narrated version “When you don’t know who you are anymore”

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The Purple Door Part II

Sitting in a circle, on those same uncomfortable chairs, we were all waiting for Movement class to start.

Head: “Ugh, Movement again?”

— Would you mind telling me what exactly your problem is with Movement class?! —

Head: “Honestly? I just don’t get why someone your age needs a class to learn how to move! Don’t you already …

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“You can’t change. You can rebuild to start over, but can you change to forget?”

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