Stories and News No. 829
Once upon a time there was a house.
Actually, no.
A suitcase, if you prefer.
Look, your choice.
Imagine something that is able to contain.
To welcome, indeed.
Draw it as you wish, the stretch and the color inspiration do not matter.
What really counts is that it is empty.
Done? Fine, if we may say so.
Now look.
Do you see the child before you, beyond your authoritative desk?
Ah ... is she a girl?
It is the same, this time it is really the same without discussion.
Because whatever you will define the young alive protagonist, the common thin is nothing.
Because the house, the suitcase, everything you had figured able to contain, welcome, it is blank. An immeasurable absence, an uncomfortable obstacle to face even for the wildest fantasies, rightly fearful of yet another disappointment.
Like a boa constrictor that just believes it had swallowed an elephant.
The child in the house, the girl with the suitcase, the hairless creature with the evanescent load on the shoulders is in front of you, now, with that same emptiness at stake.
Now give vent to yourself.
Fill your desk with your whole luggage.
Your culture and the one of the people you owe something to.
Your morale and the one of those you never want to disappoint.
Throw out the laws, every laws, those you believe in and the ones you already know that one day will appear as a kind of border among those who were already on the right side of history and those who have resisted to the last guilty embarrassment.
Eject even shamelessly every intimate reason and personal experience that somehow condition your doing. Do not delay, because this time no one is going to label them with more or less easy judgments.
Because the only witness before you has nothing.
Weighted for good the wooden table with each voice that feels entitled to punctually rattle off myriad of gender complications before the most natural act.
Because this is what we are dealing with.
A natural and extremely simple task.
Because even when you have got rid of the last fragment of words and noises, that the fate of the new life is screaming inside, you will finally be on par with him.
With her.
A child.
Maybe a little girl.
And in the middle a deafening bareness.
Read it as well as a house, a suitcase or anything that can fill only.
With love…
Read more stories about diversity
Buy my latest book, The hoax of the migrants Storytelling videos with subtitles
More on Stories and News:
Once upon a time there was a house.
Actually, no.
A suitcase, if you prefer.
Look, your choice.
Imagine something that is able to contain.
To welcome, indeed.
Draw it as you wish, the stretch and the color inspiration do not matter.
What really counts is that it is empty.
Done? Fine, if we may say so.
Now look.
Do you see the child before you, beyond your authoritative desk?
Ah ... is she a girl?
It is the same, this time it is really the same without discussion.
Because whatever you will define the young alive protagonist, the common thin is nothing.
Because the house, the suitcase, everything you had figured able to contain, welcome, it is blank. An immeasurable absence, an uncomfortable obstacle to face even for the wildest fantasies, rightly fearful of yet another disappointment.
Like a boa constrictor that just believes it had swallowed an elephant.
The child in the house, the girl with the suitcase, the hairless creature with the evanescent load on the shoulders is in front of you, now, with that same emptiness at stake.
Now give vent to yourself.
Fill your desk with your whole luggage.
Your culture and the one of the people you owe something to.
Your morale and the one of those you never want to disappoint.
Throw out the laws, every laws, those you believe in and the ones you already know that one day will appear as a kind of border among those who were already on the right side of history and those who have resisted to the last guilty embarrassment.
Eject even shamelessly every intimate reason and personal experience that somehow condition your doing. Do not delay, because this time no one is going to label them with more or less easy judgments.
Because the only witness before you has nothing.
Weighted for good the wooden table with each voice that feels entitled to punctually rattle off myriad of gender complications before the most natural act.
Because this is what we are dealing with.
A natural and extremely simple task.
Because even when you have got rid of the last fragment of words and noises, that the fate of the new life is screaming inside, you will finally be on par with him.
With her.
A child.
Maybe a little girl.
And in the middle a deafening bareness.
Read it as well as a house, a suitcase or anything that can fill only.
With love…
Read more stories about diversity
Buy my latest book, The hoax of the migrants Storytelling videos with subtitles
More on Stories and News: