LET IT GO

Don't go back to where you were happy one day, it's a trap of melancholy, everything will have changed and nothing will be the same as before, not even you.


Don't look for the same landscapes, nor the same people, time plays dirty and will have taken care of destroying everything that once made you happy.


Don't go back to the place where you were happy one day, always keep it in your memory, as it was, but don't go back.


Life goes on and there are new roads to travel… new places to visit and other people waiting for you. ❤️

ANNA

She knows this picture when and where was taken

I wanted Anna like I've never wanted anyone before. I wanted Anna against all common sense, against all pride, against all reticence, hesitation, preconception, second thoughts, lucidity. I wanted her so much, too much, I wanted her more than she wanted me, and maybe she never wanted me, but she was there and continued to buzz around me, of course - I wanted her even more, to fill this obvious distance between us. I wanted her and I still want Anna, that's the problem. I want her even though she treated me like a "weird" because deep down I know I was strange.

Predictable. Grantor. Conniving.

I want her even though she's gone from my life, even though there's no longer a future together and maybe it wasn't even there before, but it might seem, even though she's dating others, even though everyone else — potential boyfriends, potential men who will win at the roulette wheel life and they will be able to make her fall in love like I was unable to do in thirteen months by giving her everything, even the benefit of the doubt which in reality was already a certainty; certainty of having become entangled in a sterile, counterproductive, burnt-out story.

I want her so much that I learned to tell myself: to clarify, to vent, to calm myself, I learned to tell about us, about her, therefore about myself, a new me that I discovered day after day and hour after hour, re- building me after her mere presence - but even more so her absence - had shattered me, approaching me in an indifferent, superficial or rather, weird way - a word she likes a lot.

There is no future, I know it. We will never be a couple (but always never say never is the mantra). Yet I would trust her. She will never fall in love with me because, as a wise man said with that brutal honesty that only those familiar with life have: you have given yourself too much, she already knows you, she has lost interest. To paraphrase, I'm trite. The truth is that she doesn't know me at all, I would like to point that out. But she didn't want to do it, I would like to clarify this too. I, on the other hand, had to get to know myself again. I had to introduce myself again, new, unpublished, unknown, like a distant relative who you have never seen before but to whom you are linked by sharing a surname, blood, family trees.

I had to present myself with this baggage, these new experiences: hello, I'm the new you who only retains appearance and generality of the old you; I bring you new doubts, I bring you old wounds with new pain, I bring you your insecurities - the usual ones, did you by any chance think you had overcome them? — and the conflicts, the conflicts against the usual you and the new unknown — you will not win, so you better make him a friend, this unknown enemy of yourself that you cannot defeat, you better learn to live with this unknown troublemaker who chases an unrequited love and throws himself into the void against all common sense.

She was my void. In everything. The leap into the void. The emptiness in my stomach. The void of substance and content and feelings and perspectives and investments. She gave me a little that seemed like a lot, and with that much that was in fact little I was reassured that I had achieved peace of mind and it would be an understatement to talk about giving or donating. She gave me so little that sometimes I think I even dreamed it. She gave me, for my perspective, for the nothing I had given up until that time - that, in the evident imbalance of the relationship, I remained anchored to my scale while she, in the lightness of hers, was already flying towards new destinations, other stories, new interests, more tantalizing pleasures.

And then, let's face it, she's not the one who's strange. She is the representation that most conforms to the average Vietnamese woman - interested, shrewd, straight forwarded, perhaps apparently superficially and falsely modern but internally linked to the values of the traditional family, but only in words, then in reality I didn't know or perhaps I deliberately ignored, unable to invent scenarios reliable ones that could justify my way of thinking about her. Was it me who was stupid? Am I the one who believed her words, who saw sincerity in them, who fondled her when perhaps she should have been slapped to make her see reason and recognize our relationship? I should have helped her to be found when we had to get lost, to be there when I had to leave. Love is an ironic twist of fate. And a sarcastic joke about life. I thought she was the one after our first pseudo phone conversation with Zalo? It was there, in those hours condensed in a pleasant conversation with an almost stranger whose photographic features I remembered well but not the look, not the look because we had not yet looked intensely into each other's eyes, that I understood, I hoped, I believed that finally after so much wandering in vain, finally after so much waiting, I had finally been rewarded: finally I said, her. And I felt it was mine from the first time we went out, I felt it was part of my life, like a phantom limb: it wasn't there, but I felt it. It was there, we had already met in another time and another space, it was destiny that had told us, inspiration from the oriental idea of love, perhaps perfect or imperfect but it suited both of us perfectly: we just had to meet, it was just that the effort and once made, here we are.

But we weren't here. Or rather she was there, there, everywhere, with the gift of transmutation of those who do not anchor themselves to any shore. It wasn't mine, it was hers, of herself, of her past, of her limits, of her preconceptions, of her present of which I was part to a minimal extent - an ephemeral, unrealistic, surmountable, set aside extent - of her future of which I would not have done but part, I just didn't know. It was hers, of herself and of the interest she never had in me or maybe she did but she never told me openly, of the superficiality with which she treated me, apparent love, of the lies she foisted on me, and I reconstructed with unfailing sagacity, the fruit of my eidetic memory, which was once called photographic, of the apparent respect it has granted me, of the lack of education with which it moves in the world and with which I have allowed it to move in mine and with which I myself have downgraded, degraded, devalued to an incredible and smoky lover like a reflection for his luminous image, the result of skilful exercises in creativity.

She belongs to herself and it is right, very right, sacrosanct that she is, she belongs to herself. I just wanted her to share with me part of her belonging, of her existence: this is what I wanted. The truth is that someone who wants to leave and travel and discover cannot be forced to love and stay - even if that departure then becomes a return, even if the journey then becomes the road home: even if she returns, she doesn't stay - she leaves she will go again, and she has done so countless times, she has done so now too, the last one, in which she ideally turned to the web, almost running away, she smiled at me aware that we would never see each other again.

Maybe we won't see each other again but I don't know this yet, and neither does she, because perhaps I will no longer have the courage to flay my soul to discover her heart. I will no longer have the courage to believe in a future that doesn't exist and to delude myself into what doesn't exist and what I thought was. I don't want to give her the time needed to understand if he is the right one for her. And if not him another? One without a face, without a name for me, but with a precise physiognomy for her: the money as a defined and constant presence who will be able to live with it in a way I can't, not because money causes distance, of course, but and above all emotional distance. I won't have the courage to deal with a bastard but true reality: she doesn't want me and I don't want to allow myself the luxury of falling apart when she tells me that someone else has reached the finish line? I won't survive today's, I won't even survive tomorrow's, and then how many others?

I will no longer have courage because everything was exhausted when I persisted in continuing on viscous, slippery ground, on which I fell and got up and fell again: when, aware of defeat, I went to the bottom of the abyss, to the bottom of the the ocean, to touch the lowest point of my existence with my own hands in order to possibly go back up.

I still love you very much Anna, I know I wanted to take care of you: of your wounds, of your good eyes, of your insecurities, and also on your secutrities, of your ambition. I wanted to undermine your superficial frankness only with words. I wanted, I wanted, I wanted and then I had to unhinge my wanted because you didn't want.

I hope you find your serenity one day. May you learn to look inside yourself and make your insecurities your strengths, fears and courage. I hope that one day, far, far away, you'll find that a person capable of making you mature, grow, understand, know. And I hope that person is myself. I truly loved you, Anna, more than you loved me and this, unfortunately, is a bill that only I can pay.

Trains are passing many times, not once!

There are trains that are better to take the second time they pass.

They told us many times that trains only come once in a lifetime and, therefore, we took that opportunity when we weren't ready. In this way, we get disappointment, frustration and a bitter memory of a journey that, in another moment, would have been wonderful.

These trains arrive full of hope, of opportunities, of progress for our lives, and letting them pass seems like a luxury that we cannot afford. An unwritten law tells us that if we do so, we are doomed to failure.

Fortunately, this is just the umpteenth result of another of those irrational beliefs that our society has in common, which do nothing but generate anxiety and suffering. We have been taught to pay attention to any passing train that brings us closer to our future, even if the obstacles this entails are greater than the tools we possess in the short term.

Nothing is irreversible

Life is a journey full of trains and, every day, there is a new station where you can choose which of these to take. Decisions in which the sacrifices are as important as the tickets you buy. We often think that if that golden opportunity comes along, and we let it slip away, we won't be able to have another one; this is the result of illogical, unreal thinking.

We live in a world where when one door closes, five open, and when an opportunity is missed, lessons are learned and learned, better ones presented, and so on, throughout our lives. Whatever age you are, therefore, you can continue to bet on changes.

Few things are irreversible, fewer than what we believe. Think about it: if you didn't seize an opportunity because you didn't feel ready, because you didn't realize it was there or because it wasn't the right time, don't worry, because the world doesn't end nor do other trains stop passing by.

We believe that "the love or work of our life" exists, but it is not true: there are loves, people with whom we get along more or less and better or worse jobs, but nothing more than this. The problem is that we believe that our happiness depends on it.

We are the ones who use the qualifier "of my life" and, for this reason, we feel bad when something slips away. You must keep in mind that everyone, absolutely all of us, have missed that "train" at times, but we survived, we learned something and we took the next one, which came full of exciting surprises.

Sometimes we even got to thinking: luckily I let that train pass, because the second one was even better.

Trains returning to the station

These trains you believe have left forever will return to their departure station. Maybe with other passengers on board, maybe with new things to offer you: new routes, different landscapes, but they will certainly come back.

It is important so that you do not fall into demotivation, so that you know that life is cyclical and changeable, that nothing is decisive, that things are not black or white: you get on board or you lose it forever.

You must realize, therefore, that at any moment, in any corner, your train can pass, one of the many that you will take during your life. What is really important is that you are careful and do not give up.

It is essential not to give up, to continue to persevere, to continue knocking on every door, without anything stopping us: neither fear nor age nor limiting thoughts.

Perseverance is the mother of success and what we don't know, in reality, is that we are the trains.

Love you never lose...

Love you never lose... Even if she does not call you. Although she lives her fears. Even if you think of anything else. Even if you leave off without saying anything... 

When you love you never stop loving. It is always a trace. A trail. A word. What then over time become tenderness and complicity...

 

So why even today this jolt? Why the sudden urge to stay there forever? So... suddenly... like a storm in the middle of August... 

It's not easy to leave and go back, change language, quickly close a door to open another, only an illusion, a door open for her will remain forever. Hope or maybe you want to, or do not want, you want to stay but you have to leave. Do not just hop on a plane and fly away to delete everything and act as if nothing had happened... it happened, I fell in love and I can not pretend nothing has happened, she is always there, before my eyes, like a sun beam or a star which shows me the way. I can not avoid, I can not pretend that there was nothing. The mind says to forget but the heart does not listen and continues on his way. 

I don't want to woke up where I don't want to be. Now I'm still here, portrays of two worlds and two passions, split in two, as if everything is possible, as if it were enough to close your eyes to find the moment of grace before they go away forever...

Do not just stay far to clear everything and act as if nothing had happened ... It's not enough. Because if something happened once it happened forever; and is no longer in my power to push back her in anything, or "as if it had never been." And yet I can reconsider it, watch it (or re-watch it) in a different light, the light of how I am "now", which is a light different from that I was or we were at the time. This doesn't mean that watching it in a different light doesn't make me suffer any more, but it will be a pain differently, because "understands" that already lived, so much so that even more of us are the same, even if we delude ourselves to "be still together"

The distance hurts me, makes me suffer, like the silence. Each raindrop is a tear of happiness to have known you, but also of sadness for not being there with you anymore.

"Memory is a cruel mistress with which we must all learn to dance."

(The Forgotten Garden - Kate Morton)

Missing you

“Missing each other is already belonging” I read this morning on Facebook. A quote from the writer Lailly Daolio that led me to some reflections that I would like to share with you.

Feeling of lack

The feeling of lack is one of those we feel most ardently in our lives. We miss a loved one, a friend, a parent or a child but we also miss countries and places, situations and feelings. Is it belonging? Yes, what we are missing is certainly part of our life and our existence. It was or is.

The feeling of emptiness generated by lack makes us understand the strength of a feeling and the value a person has in our life. The shortcomings related to the family are self-explanatory: undoubtedly the absence of a child or a parent are very strong feelings we all feel for good reasons - a departure or a journey - and for less beautiful reasons - mourning or separation due to events, a voluntary separation of one of the parties – in any case it is a shortcoming.

Loss

The loss of the loved one is intense and wonderful. It could mark us a partner away for work but also a lover who we cannot see or hear. The person who decided to interrupt the stretch of life together is missing. Equally important is the lack of places - where we lived or where we were born - or of feelings and situations - lack of love, friendship or sense of family -.

How can we live with this sense of emptiness generated by lack? Of course it depends on the situation. If we talk about the loss of a deceased person we must necessarily feel pain and then let go of this feeling. The person who is no longer with us has left something very important in our lives. If we come to miss them, therefore, let's not forget the beautiful moments we spent together.

Every now and then let's take refuge in those memories, in his words, in his teachings or in his hugs but let's do it with a smile and not with the pain of no longer having them. I quote this phrase from Saint Augustine I love very much: "Let us not despair at having lost a loved one, but let us rejoice at having had them".

If we miss a person in the family because they have decided to end the relationship - unfortunately this also happens - then we owe it to ourselves to metabolize this abandonment and then let go of any feelings of anxiety, fear and anger associated with it. Negative feelings don't make us feel good and don't even bring us back to reconnecting with that finished relationship. Let's avoid crowding our minds with questions about how it is possible for a father to abandon a son or a mother to leave a daughter in difficulty.

We can never know the aspects of that person's mind. What we can do is love each other, seek contact at the beginning - especially because he will make us feel like we have tried everything - and then dedicate ourselves to our happiness. There is happiness even without those people. It exists if we want it strongly, if we cultivate it, if we look for it in what is next to us. In most situations it happens that too focused on understanding why that relationship ended we lose sight of the wonder and gifts that life has given us. A person who loves us, a child, health, the magic of emotions.

Love

And now we come to love. Missing your loved one is the first step to understanding that person has true value for us, they belong to us. We miss her looks, her words, her messages, her smile, her caresses and hugs. We miss her and we find her in every song, in every film, in every word read in a book.

It's like that, it's part of love. What to do? We must rejoice if this feeling is part of a relationship that works and that does not make us miss the feeling of being the most loved person in the world. Even if the lack generates a void, the awareness of being part of one whole with the other person must make us feel good.


Especially if we know – and we always know – that the other person misses us too. Let's think back to the last hug or kiss and stay there for a while... smiling and enjoying those wonderful sensations. This helps us overcome the lack until the next hug.

If the relationship is not reciprocated, we need to change our attitude, a nice turning point and we start again. Let's not stop where there is no happiness for us. It is not fair to ourselves and the life we have been given.

We don't deserve unhappiness and we must always feel true and sincere love in our lives.
The one that overwhelms you and makes you unexpectedly emotional. The one that makes you get up in the morning thinking about the person you love and knowing that they are thinking of you. The one that keeps you physically distant but united in heart and soul.

If this is not there, that journey is not made for us. We have to get off the train and do it as soon as possible, before the right one can pass alongside us without stopping.

The finished love. This is very complicated. Here we need to recover all the strength necessary to be able to love ourselves to the point of understanding that that story is over and we cannot keep ourselves anchored to an idea that belongs to the past. The end of a marriage, a cohabitation, an engagement or a simple relationship is not a failure.

It is important to impress this in our minds because it is the first block we impose on ourselves. We made a piece of life together with that person but now it's time to close and look beyond. The lack, especially in the case of long relationships, is often dictated by habit. No longer setting the table for that person makes you feel empty, just like no longer seeing the toothbrush in the glass or not having a person to organize Sunday with.

The kiss goodnight or the complicity in preparing breakfast in the morning is a lack. Missing the daily phone call and chatting before going to sleep. Well, this is often what's missing. An idea of family, of couple, of shared everyday life. But this is not love. L

love is missing breaths, kisses, hugs, smiles, gestures and words that only that person could give us. Talk to yourself: if emotions are missing and love is no longer reciprocated, you know what to do; If, however, daily gestures are missing, then work on habits and insert new ones into your life. The first few days are difficult but give yourself a month and you will find yourself setting the table counting the right guests without even thinking about who is missing.

The idea of love and happiness shared with another person can be reconstructed with the new. But we must be ready to welcome it…

Places

And, finally, if you miss places and countries near or far. Well, go... take a trip to recover the wonderful emotions that they give you or move if you think that your life elsewhere could be better.