I left

To my country, I left and discovered that I am still miserable away from you. I adit that I did try to escape, a fresh new start, new language, new culture, new personality. I decided that,like everything else that disappoints me, I would erase you, forget all about you. I ended up hating you, after so many years of rooting for you, hating your language, your manners, your thoughts, your faces, I wanted out. It was toxic, I couldn’t breathe your air anymore, it hurt like hell because I wouldn’t accept it. I loved you once, believed in you, wanted you but you kept on disappointing me, kept breaking my hopes until the single thought of staying on your soil itched me towards the thought of taking that knife that laid on my desk and planting it in my heart. I think when you hate someone or something, you hate the whole of them. You hate every idea they believe in, every thought that comes out of them. And no matter whether you were right or wrong, I disagreed. Your laws dictated that freedom isn’t to be respected, I craved a place where it is sacred. Your laws looked down of every expression of art or love, I longed for a place filled with it. And, I made it, I have never been freer than I am now, I lose my way every day coming back drunk to my home at the brisk of dawn having expressed my love to everyone I met and spend every second I’m not drinking rolling blunts. I’m still miserable even though I have no reason to be. I left, I abandoned you why is your misery still haunting me. And why do I miss you? I’ll admit starting over is hard, the mere fact that you do not speak the language innately, that you’re not programmed to think in that language, eliminates you from most conversations, you might understand but you can’t find the appropriate response, it isolates you, and isolation is my worst enemy. It’s hard to form close relationships or even friendships when you don’t have the same manners and habits, you kind of don’t fit. And, you realize that you can’t fit here. You lost a life when you moved out, you lost the sights of houses and streets you knew by heart, you lost the smells and tastes you’d recognize blind-folded, you lost your spontaneity in conversations, you lost everything here. That’s why I miss you, it was easy and no matter how much I felt I was out of place, I knew there was and will always be a place for me there. I fit there, because everybody hates themselves and everyone else there and want to get out. I feel like my people are the most depressed, pessimistic and self-loathing people on earth but they’re brilliant. I feel that they have more energy in them nourished by the oh so many conflicts within, they’re far more brutally honest, so desperate they open up to everyone that would hear them in case they knew what’s wrong with them and how to fix it. These moments of honesty came rarely nonetheless, usually after a long conversation under the stars or in the middle of your tenth beer that you confess your most inner thoughts. I miss them as much as I hate them. The idea of coming back scares me, I knew the inability to breathe would come back and I dread that. I realized that I can’t fit anywhere, not with those I grew up with and know like the back of my hands and not with those that no matter how well you speak their language or copy their manners, there will always be a little distance, a little coldness that reminds you you don’t fit here either.



I was a bright kid, years ago. I used to think I was special, that I was going to mark my place in the world. I was going to become this respected, well known, successful person. I was going to become this talented doctor who found the cure to cancer, or this crazy scientist who solved the world’s greatest equations, or a leader who finally reconciled the world’s greatest powers and instated world peace. I had big dreams for a ten year old, and I was working hard to make the future look as bright as possible.

I read books that were way beyond my years, I watched the news avidly, I lead a mini strike in school, standing on top of the stairs, facing a crowd of 50 kids, who repeated every word I said, I wrote short stories and plays, I fantasized about the great scientists of our world, dreaming up crazy inventions and ideas. I was an interesting little kid, arrogant, pretentious to say the least, but a kid who faced the world bravely, stood tall and vowed to someday conquer it.

I think I crushed that little kid’s hopes, torched all of his dreams and plans and destroyed the foundations he had laid for a great promising future. Well, I’ve managed to drag that boy through hell, put him through years of unending emotional torture, intoxicate him with all the cynicism this world had to offer and I managed to break that boy’s will, blew it to pieces, stomped his face so many times in the dirt, that he finally stopped looking up, and learned to be contempt, contempt with a worthless, uneventful, pathetic life.

I do a little bit of stalking now and then, to see how the people, I’ve known when I was at that age, are fairing. How do their lives compare? Are they happy? Are they in a good place? What sort of life are they leading? This only serves one purpose: satisfy my sadistic desire to see that little kid sink his head in shame. As all of my fellow classmates lead interesting lives, scattered in different countries, and one feat I’ve never accomplished is get out of the country, doing what they love, what I knew, back then, was their lives’ calling.

I smile when I remember that they all looked up to me, I still have the notes they wrote me on the last day of school, each predicting his own version of what my bright future is going to look like. I hope they never remember me, or try to look me up. The conversation would go along the lines of: “Hi man, how’s life treating you?”. “It’s been great, I managed to find the perfect dead end , one that fits the sad pathetic life I deserve”.”God, what happened to you?”.

To which, I shall answer: “Well, that’s what I’ve been asking myself for a long time now. I found some great excuses. I tried to blame it on a girl I met eight years ago. I tried to blame it all on young love: met a girl, fallen madly in love with her, was her rebound between two serious relationships, and hanged on to the memory of our two months being actually “together” for the remaining seven years. Then, I learned a bit about psychology, and thus tried to blame it all on my parents, who never let me be a kid, never bought me video games, let me play with the neighborhood kids, left me alone most of the time, demanded hard work and weren’t easily pleased.”

“But, the person that truly and beyond any doubt, who truly fucked me up and double crossed me a million times, was me. I am behind my own destruction. I am the criminal here, your honor. It was me, don’t act surprised, I led myself down this road of self destruction. I sabotaged myself. Why? I was scared that I was going to be that quirky kid who never really fit in anywhere. So, I started hiding away my ‘special thing’ (my dreams, my hopes, my talents), I wanted to be a normal cool kid, while others worked bravely on their special thing, made themselves better and built an identity for themselves, that’s how they didn’t lose their way. I dismantled my identity bit by bit, until there was but a void, and what do you expect from a man with no identity?”

The last night of a psycho (1)

A bottle of cheap wine, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and a gun that’s what he cared to bring. He stood against a tree in the dark, waiting for his prey. Tonight should be his last night on earth, two lives were going to end before sunrise . He didn’t care about the laws he was about to break. They can come after him in hell. And, so he waited.

Around the fourth cigarette, he heard footsteps. He grabbed the gun without a second thought and came out of the bushes. She was strolling along the side walk. She was listening to some music, her earphones plugged in. She didn’t hear him coming; she didn’t know what was about to hit her, she didn’t know she was going to die that night.

He put the gun to her temple and pressed his hand against her mouth. No hesitation, no fear, precise cold and calculated. She didn’t scream, didn’t make a move. She closed her eyes and waited. He whispered in her ear, to walk to the bushes and she did. He made her sit on a log and sat in front of her with the gun pointing straight at her heart.

“The only way you’re getting out of this alive is if you convince me that you matter, that this universe has some form of order, that you exist to serve a higher purpose, else you and I won’t last to see the dawn.” He took a swig of wine, then handed her the bottle: “Trust me you’re going to need it” and lit yet another cigarette.

She looked young, bright, hopeful with all the patience and courage to face everything life threw at her. She was everything he had been. He saw his past in her. They were the same age. But, they couldn’t be any different, he already looked dead, a rotting soul in a rotting body but she was flaming with energy, pulsating with life.

The night was still young…




He was walking along the side walk, when she caught his eye. Her hazel eyes shone brighter than the sunlight. He saw his salvation in her eyes. He saw what could be, another life, a hope. He came a thousand times to this same place, because he still believed in the power of the picturesque places, the peace they brought to his thoughts. But, the place seemed to have lost its magic, a long time ago.

He was a romantic guy, and despite all the deceptions, he had given up on everything except for love. It was the only power he believed in, the only sensation that defied the cold logic that reigned upon his mind. The logic that brought down his faith, his habits, his beliefs… crumbled in front of love: a chemical reaction that carried the most powerful of sensations. And, her eyes were full of love.



How and If

How can you live knowing it all stands for nothing, knowing that purpose is just an illusion? How can you love? How can can you stand meaningless? How do you not take away your own life? I find this meaninglessness, my meaninglessness, unbearable. I gave up believing in a god, when he failed to answer all my prayers, when I realised that nothing had changed all those years, that I was living in a loop of eternal suffering and I was the one that put myself there. It was this first deception that ended my belief in an all merciful higher power, once and for all.

Even when my grand mother passed away, and I wasn’t there with her in her last weeks, I refused all kinds of religious consolation, I tried for a few moments to unify my thoughts with all those people standing next to me and praying for her salvation. But, I couldn’t stop thinking about the last time I saw her, lying unconscious in a hospital bed, she never woke up after that day. She was just lying there, looking peaceful like she always did, but she was already gone, because the doctors pulled the plugs a few days later and she was gone.

I felt no soul leaving her body, there was nothing surreal about her death. She just died, just like the hundreds of people that died that day all over the world. There was nothing special about death. There is nothing special about death, so why would there be anything special about life? I never prayed for her, I just go by her grave whenever I get the chance and I just stand there, repeating the few senseless words I was taught to say, but with no inherent belief in their magic.

If there is a god, then he isn’t the one so humanly portrayed in religion. He knows no joy or anger, he doesn’t feel the suffering of all the people of his creation, he doesn’t need anyone to believe in him. If there ever was a sensitive god  then he should’ve ended his own existence millions of years ago, because I doubt his existence is any less unbearable than ours. But I doubt our god is anything more than just the forces that set the wheel of life in motion. It doesn’t matter because I gave up on god, whatever form he takes a long time ago.

Perverse Pleasure

It’s not everyday you see people act like themselves, and usually you catch a glimpse of their true nature in moments of anger or drunkenness. I love those moments where the masks come off, the social conformities are torn off, and you see the devil within. Man made the devil, whatever desires or thoughts that lurked inside of him, he classified as perverse, unnatural and attributed them to an exterior power, in an effort to preserve a functional harmonious society, where everyone is depicted as saints.

But, in those moments of anger and drunkenness, you see what we are truly made of, you can argue that man has no true nature, that he creates himself, that could’ve been true in some distant utopian society where every one has had a perfect childhood and became an uncomplexed adult, but that doesn’t happen in our society, everyone has a scarred childhood, few people have the power to overcome it, those are the saints that walk amongst us, the rest, we act.

We reign whatever desire or thought, ill-perceived by society motivated by a desire to fit the standards, to not be rejected, but the conscious effort required to act is easily depleted, and that’s when I know that I’m not alone, it’s when people reveal the darkness inside them, it’s then that I know that we’re all hurt, it’s when they give up their facade and tell you the horrible things they think about you or someone else. It’s when they turn to violence and hate that I know we’re not smart and evolved creatures, we’re animals that took up acting classes.

We’re egoistic, hateful, sadistic savages, that’s what we are and that’s how we’ll remain. We have an insatiable desire for power, control over others, fame… We all want to be gods that stand on top of a kneeling mass of inferiors, and we will seek that desire in whatever way possible, just look at the bloodshed that makes up thousands of years of human history, all the wars, the rape, the murders, the luxury of the emperors’ palaces, the glory of the conquerors and the profane poverty of the mass.

When we act as ourselves, that’s when we understand ourselves, but what comes after the understanding? A reconciliation with ourselves? Forgiveness of others? An all open civil war? I don’t know the answer, for now, I enjoy the scenes of drunk angry men and women, actually reveal themselves.

I am tired of explaining myself to you, of course, I have never told you any of my inner thoughts directly, it was above you to ask about me and I couldn’t dare trouble you with my thoughts. I don’t know how to feel about you any more, what to feel when you cross my mind, and you do, you’re always there in the background behind every girl I see, a constant reminder that I never got a single genuine smile, a compassionate look, that I never got you.

I can’t write any more, can’t express a thought in a proper sentence. The truth is I ran out of worthy thoughts, maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been stuck in the same loop of misery for years, that I said all that there is to say about you. I am tired of saying that I gave up on life, and I am too much of a coward to do anything about it, and so I’ve let myself drift, carried away by every current life throws towards me, lost and not the least bit worried where I might land.

You were my cause and my purpose, and I lost… I lost you and tried to forget about you, but it seems you are the cornerstone upon which a horrible, miserable, worthless character was built, destined to play forever the same buffoon that fell for a smile. An unwise character in a Greek odyssey, that is what I’ve become. How can I change my destiny? How can I exit the loop? How can I forget?