I walk home with my chrysanthemums and feel like maybe these small acts of rebellion against hopelessness are something important.
You see, I was thinking about what to write in this column while I feel like my head is about to explode. I doubt. I could write about “the topic” from the beginning of the week, I could talk about how my gut churns every time a new case of abuse, harassment, violence against women comes to light. Point out the heaviness of this demand for the perfect victim, because if she is not traumatized, if she left with him, if she talks too much, if she likes cameras so much, she will not be such a victim. Add how absurd it seems to me to focus the debate on the judicial and criminal matters as if the ethical were worthless. And in all sectors, in all companies, in all jobs, in all parties, everywhere, all the time, always. How tired, how tired.
I could also talk to you about the sadness and anxiety faced with the catastrophic consequences of the passage of DANA and how I cannot understand those who continue to deny climate change. Or worse, yes I can. I can see that the reason they deny scientific evidence is their own economic interests, putting quick and individualistic profit before caring for the community, for the planet. How sad.
Sometimes you go online looking for information, to hear from others, to read points of view, but these places have become a parallel universe of polarization, insults, and hatred. And then hopelessness invades her, because she may think that that is the world, and if that is what it is, we are doomed to disaster.
And yet, in the worst moments, we can also see the best. The workers of a nursing home save the lives of more than a hundred elderly people by carrying them up two floors by hand, a woman is dragged by the current when suddenly an unknown arm grabs her and pulls her out, a man breaks a door to save some trapped children, a lady hugs her dog while she is rescued by firefighters, thousands of people come with buckets, shovels and brooms to the affected areas, a group of immigrants cooks for their neighbors, people who offer their homes, their help, their listening, their hug. And I remember what Machado said that in Spain the best is the people.
Pessimism is not an option, defeatism leads us to inaction and we cannot afford it, we need active involvement from each of us, because the future will not be, we will build the future, and it will be as we want it to be.
Through my work, I have had the opportunity to interview philosophers and thinkers that I admire. When asked what the future holds for us, everyone has agreed on something. Pessimism is not an option, defeatism leads us to inaction and we cannot afford it, we need active involvement from each of us, because the future will not be, we will build the future, and it will be as we want it to be.
And since I tend to put my gaze on those small things that seem insignificant in the face of big events, in the face of sadness I take refuge in the good morning that I say to the conductor on the commuter train: “good morning”, “good morning”. In the conversation in the elevator and “we’re coming back, right? What a day, well, let’s have a good day!”, in how ridiculously useful I feel picking up my neighbor’s Amazon packages when he’s not at home. “Thank you very much, Laura! The messenger called me and I didn’t have time to arrive. How is everything going? “Everything is fine, don’t worry, that’s what we’re here for.”
I return to my workplace, to my eyes glued to the screen and my fingers typing, to my body that complains. My mother sends me a photo to my cell phone of the new flower that the hibiscus on the balcony has grown. I smile and send him a heart. “I love you so much, mom.” “And I, daughter, take care of yourself.”
I’ve had milk and oatmeal for dinner for days because I haven’t had time to shop. “I can’t take it anymore,” I tell myself. I put on a sweatshirt and go down to the supermarket. I am distressed and discouraged by this sick work system, by politics, by wars, by lost lives, by machismo, by housing, by the climate crisis, by existence in survival mode. But there are flowers in the supermarket today because All Souls’ Day is approaching. Along with the apples, eggs and milk, I place a pretty bouquet of white chrysanthemums in the cart.
I like it when I go through the checkout and the cashier smiles when she sees them. “How beautiful! These have arrived today.” “Right? “How pretty.” I smile at him as I hurriedly put the shopping in the bag so as not to make the next person wait. I walk home with my chrysanthemums and feel like maybe these small acts of rebellion against hopelessness are something important. That sometimes suffocation is combated with a good morning to a stranger, with a conversation in an elevator, with a caress to a dog, with a small favor for a neighbor, with a “take care, daughter,” or with some supermarket flowers. .
#Supermarket #flowers
