I believe personality, those attractive traits we admire or secretly envy in other people, developed and built upon a few interests, ideas and activities. One’s style is much more intriguing when it is mixed. One’s house tells more appealing stories of the owner if it contains, not clutter, but meaningful trophies, and thoughtfully chosen items. One’s character blooms in the environment of experiments, failures and achievements in various areas. After all, self-labelling deprives one of the possibilities to expand and perhaps to discover better, deeper, that also makes more sense for one’s life that appealing labels did at first.
A well-curated wardrobe means each piece in it was picked with precise attention to details. There I speak not only about buttons or colours, I want to focus on something that stands beyond appearance - the life purpose. A few days ago, I had put aside a pile of clothes to bring to the donation centre and consignment store. The pile included well made, quality pieces that, however, had never added value into my life, or into my wardrobe.
“Andre, let’s go outside! We will smell raindrop touches on lilac flowers.” I dug my nose into the mosquito net of the wide-open window. The rain that was whipping the soil for the last three hours almost stopped. I looked as thin sunrays tried to break through clouds and couldn’t hold the buzz inside my body. Trees and grass bathing in soft lights were emerald green. The apple tree we recently planted in the backyard half lost its blooming flowers and seemed to be someone who just ran away from a barber, without completing its haircut. I didn’t mind. The tree represented the transition between ended spring and the upcoming summer.
It took me almost two months to gather my thoughts and to find them worth sharing after every single travelling plan crushed down on my head with a loud vexatious sound. When the pandemic started in March I remained in hopes that mapped out routes for our Europe trip in May would stay as planned. Full of brave proclamations that the seriousness of the virus is overstretched by the media, hoping, daring to hope that in two months my feet would touch the grounds of London, Paris, Prague and some picturesque old cities of Germany, I kept praying for the positive outcome. I suppose it is easy to guess that no plane took off to London on the selected date. Now, no matter all temptations to share about the tears I shed and devastation I felt, I decided to control myself and instead to share some musings that were born in the middle of my acceptance of the reality.