This picture was taken by Clara R. Vives in 2015.
We need to ask ourselves: "what about us?" Because, darling, you know it already: it is time to evolve. And shake the rain off. As one of my favourites writers in Spanish says:
que no tengo miedo:
When I was wearing long brown-ginger hair a while ago my head was a messy suitcase full of my own personal luggage. I tagged everything I possibly could to analyze it and learn about it after.To look inside, to feel that painful thorn in your hands when you touch or on your back when you want to help somebody (before even helping yourself) and within you and other people was excruciating. It was another way to play run and hide: I call it self-exile. I had to leave me behind. We also call it evolution for obvious reasons.
Often, when nothing it is enough you seem not to overcome that labyrinth full of wrong signs and mischievous creatures. It is a neverending story with an incomplete and dramatically reduced universe. You feel the need to move then and get your own truth breaking through all those walls you built which are just constructions in your mind that were addressed to your human being with a dark stamp on a letter.
Personally, I knew back in 2015 that something was missing. I remember walking down this beautiful city in Liverpool with a veil on my eyes although I was looking everywhere. Suddenly, I bumped into this art piece in the middle of the street... And yes, I wanted to make my own house there. Those suitcases full of memories, tools, experiences, etc. were my early start here in the UK. There was no doubt, I realized: in this country where it always rains I was raining inside.
Nowadays, I am still taking fears and insecurities out of that suitcase. I know, like this war art piece right? What is it a war if it is not from ourselves to ourselves? Life has a funny way to show us that lesson. And it is, of course, bumping into things along the way. My life under this rain it's going to be an inspiration for my book El Ojo Izquierdo (The Left Eye). That will be a new letter. For myself to myself. As I am me, like you, an unfinished piece of art after all.
what about us?
If you had picked my hand,
pervaded with a
and not pooled
your own soured
had seen me and remembered
Because after all,
I am a tree.And my hands remember
what is to rain.