Monday, December 7, 2015

How often do you hear yourself saying: "I am finally free"?

I try. I really do. But then something deep inside compels me to take the pen and once more unravel my soul one last time and harness the satisfaction and inner peace that writing gives me. I must succumb. What are you waiting for?

I had never known peace in my life. I was borne and raised in the battlefield. Conflict and victory were my parents. I learned to run before I walked. And I ran a whole lot. When I recently began to have a goal, finally tasting victory and peace for the first time, you arrived. You arrived like the rising sun. My hidden passenger that I was taking for some time. And instead of letting go, we closed our eyes time and again, forgetting as we both dragged ourselves down. Yet we still took each other in.

We surrendered, again and again, thinking that this will take us towards the light. I was caught in your slow release but now my reflection will slowly fade into another time and become a distant memory. But even all these tarnished memories, all these memories that haunt us are cherished just the same.

When I was a young little boy I wanted to become a scientist. I wrote that in my school essay back when I was 10 years old. I wanted to change the world. As time passed I found it hard to change the world. I had to think about economics, relationships, power struggles. So I shifted my goal to do something and change my nation instead. I would become a scientist that would yield the power and determination to procure change and rock the foundations of the Earth.

But even that proved challenging as I walked outside the doors of the university with a piece of paper stating academic excellence, throwing me into the whirlpool of unemployment and increasing depression rates. I never gave up. I fought with both conflict and victory. I shrugged the weight that Atlas had off my shoulders each night when I went to sleep. The weight of the entire world.

Titanic strength and steely determination.
When I finally saw the cracks in my plan, I shifted focus once more. I could not change my nation. A nation of corruption and dark deeds oozing out of its core, out of its every pore. I focused on my town. A town of merely 50-60.000 inhabitants. I was shocked by how materialistic and individualistic our society is. I fought against hunters, killers and stray animal abusers. I bathed in their blood and swam in my tears as I tried to correct the injustice. It was unbearable. I fled my country to pastures new, arriving in Sweden as the dream destination.

I tried to form relationships and take that hidden passenger but at the age of 27, finally wiser and forged through the fire and flames I understood I cannot change others. It is wrong to do that, to force them. These days I finally realized what I want in my life. A plate of food, personal development, a roof over my head and a loving partner to hug and swim in the warmth of emotions and banish loneliness once and for all. I understood that if I change myself, if I change my mindset to become something unbreakable I can come out unscathed walking over hot coal and through the burning gates of hell. That my impact will be passed to my off-springs. And then together we will take that impact and change our city. And our nation. And the world. In the end, I can change the world.

When everything is said and done, why don't you stop looking for answers, if only there is one. And as I turn my back, finally the urge is gone, left with no reason, we come undone. And I am free. My chains are broken. As I crawled out of the bottomless pit I threw myself into I saw the light. And as I swim upwards I will see you, the individual that is doing the same and grab your hand while we walk towards the light. 

I have no strings on me.            

Every story is important. Every pain or every joy. Stories are a very important part of our culture. Telling those stories is our way of coping with things. Maybe someone out there will identify themselves with this situation. Maybe not. But there is one thing that we can all agree about. Stories are memory aids, instruction manuals and moral compasses. It is a nice quote. They harden us, they make us think, sometimes they make us cautious and weary and some other times they make us smile and look on the bright side of things. And even if the storyteller does not intend to, ALL stories teach. They bind us together. What is your story?

Goodnight Sweden...For I am free.

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