Last, hanging dreams
We often say phrases like “I hope to forget all this soon” but, in hindsight, is it okay to forget?
Let's imagine we have a huge red button behind the neck with the inscription “Reset” engraved, will we be able to press it?
At the end of it all, is it okay to forget?
It is normal to want to forget the abuses, the sufferings, the scars on the skin, the grudges, the fears but we are the result of everything that has happened to us, good or bad, we will be really ready to give a damn about who we are and who are we to do a complete reset of everything and become amoebas without memories and without a past?
We think that by erasing all bad memories we would live happier, we will be better people. But is it really so?
By eliminating everything we will also throw away all that happiness we had "thanks" to our suffering, everything we have learned would become useless because it would not be followed by experience, like theory without practice.
Imagine meeting the girl of your dreams or the guy you even want to have with you for the rest of your life and all of a sudden an anonymous you from the future shows up who can't reveal his identity and tells you to let it all go and to flee with high legs. Would you listen to him? And if he told you that it is from this person that you will receive the greatest disappointments, at that point would you believe him?
I do not think so, I personally if someone told me so I would be even more eager to start that relationship.
If you, like me, didn't listen to it, do you know why you wouldn't?
For a simple reason: you do not have the adequate experience to understand what will happen in two months, a year or more.
Is it really worth erasing the memories?
Will we really be happier?
In my opinion we will get on a carousel from which we will no longer be able to get off, making the same mistake again, again, again and again.
Forgetting does not eliminate suffering but increases it exponentially, up to infinity.
Once upon a time there was a little girl. She had a bob of golden hair and deep dark eyes. He always smiled, he appreciated life. She was an intelligent child, she invented stories, she loved to read, she wanted to be a writer, she thought a lot. Often she was alone: she was too shy to communicate with others, she was satisfied with herself, she kept everything inside. But he was happy like that. Because inside she had so many beautiful things, a magical world made of dreams, glitter, love. She loved herself, she cared about her ideals. I remember that he played with pencils, he had all the colors, he made them talk. He had a lot of dolls, but he preferred pencils. She was a sensitive, sweet, nice child. He did not want to give anything to anyone, his things were only his property. But the heart, that heart would have given it to anyone. She was a good girl, always sunny and cheerful. I often wonder what that little girl would have thought of who I am now. Certainly she would not recognize me: she would have called me crazy, she would not have understood my scars, she would have grumbled at me from the smoke, she would have been sick with my suicidal thoughts. He would cry looking at me. He would see my smile, the same as before, but sadder. She would tell me to give a damn about others and eat as much as I want, like she did. She who had been vomiting for whole nights with sweets. That little eater with the big belly. Of course, she would also have been proud of my progress, she would have complimented me because she didn't know how to do somersaults, splits, bridges; because she didn't have the courage to experiment. I've learned a lot over the years, but I miss that little girl's sweet innocence. His way of dealing with problems. Holidays, birthdays, Christmas, when she stayed up all night to hear the footsteps of a fat old man dressed in red. When the golden lights on the trees enchanted her, when her little town seemed bigger than New York. That little girl who cried a lot and for everything, a bit like now. That little girl pretending to be a model or a dancer while trying on mom's big dresses. The one who loved the world and herself. That little girl I would love to see again because I miss her. Because I wish I was still as happy as she is.The child was asleep when the door opened and someone entered. Was it the fairy tale wolf? She was asleep but suddenly she felt something. A nuisance down there. A strange and bad feeling. The little girl did not want to open her eyes. He forced himself to leave them closed. And he died under the weight of the big bad wolf.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 