Open
chances. Too many missed shots.
An intense war
field. Heads of State rising and falling before the sunrise.
I obviously
had to get my life back in track, and to such an intent, there is no better
remedy than throwing all the shadows to be smacked down by the big wheels of time,
while I ran to anywhere out of radar.
New
connections and new directions. Perfect excuses to allow myself moving far out
of my way just to misbehave for a night or two, after comfortably steering
around the art exhibits.
It was the
game I once owned, and I was diving head first into it.
In the
height of the autumn, the fall of every leaf marked every single time I fell in
love with a complete stranger.
I let them
took my love and I, well, tried to keep some of theirs, as a piece to my – yet
incomplete – puzzle.
Another
winter did not take too long to lay its cold veil above us.
It was
unstable times and the deep purple in the skies seemed like an evil presage.
And at the
dusky evening I came to discover.
The dead
came back to walk among the living; the evil in me had been kept alive.
From
slowing dying cinders, it took the form of an undistinguishable walking figure
among the living, scrapping plans and sending my newly built views and
paradigms to a swirl – or a black hole altogether.
Whether it
was the best or the worst of the timings, it is yet to be decided.
The
political instability, however, was growing stronger, so I had to head to my
refuge, as much before planned, leaving behind the poorly finished situation.
Another
road-crossing.
Behind me,
the fire deceasing into cinders yet again.
Ahead of
me, the environment that brings me safety.
In the
middle of a prayer for better days, I turned 26. It was midnight, and I was
vanishing from sight, feeling both bemused and awed, but, at the very same
time, allowing a soft note of despair and regret give me cold, annoying chills.
At that point,
however, it was too late, for it was time to look ahead.
The day dawned and the sun shone – a bit timidly, for it was a cloudy winter day –, and I was feeling uncannily happy and accomplished as I stepped into the second half of my twenties.
Above the
clouds, life was feeling once again exciting and there was no single possible
way to have a more proper celebration for my birthday.
With the
widest smile crafted on my face, I jumped into the arms of the wilderness, and,
this time, it was me who became another undistinguishable figure.
Take me in your arms, Vinovia.
Not too
long after, the continuous political tension burst into armed conflicts and the
bloodiest battles took place.
My Capital
District was being taken over by enemy after enemy whilst I did not succeed to
conquer any new territory.
At that point, it became conspicuous that my war
techniques were wholly out-dated.
Amidst the
debris of the once imposing skyscrapers of the city, a counter-movement slowly arose,
headed by my own self, to win over the repression of the tyrannous newly
installed, nearly fungible Government.
While the
troops fought in the countryside and the police haunted the city, my body was
found to be the primary, most powerful weapon of rebellion.
Sexuality
was the sole strategy.
To the
rebels, every lustful encounter at the dusk became an act of protesting, of
displaying, to their faces, the naked core of what cannot be taken from us.
And as we
reached the biggest momentum, when the thrill skyrocketed to above the
stratosphere, much beyond their reach, and we shouted the scream of liberty, we
knew it.
They cannot control
us.
I then
found myself striding among the corpses of those fallen in battle, feeling
nothing but fresh, unstoppable and eager to face the darkness, closer each day
to defeating the enemy.
Back from
safety, it is crystal clear that the Old City, the old status quo, is no longer luring. It simply does not make any more
sense – and has not made for longer than I can even conceptualize.
That is how
I know the rebellion is not over yet.
Keep fighting.
Keep the wheels spinning.
See you in the next
stop.
XX