On Solitude: And I Love Her
I used to think I would die young.
When all the artists and writers seemed to end their life early. The strange thing is you can't really name anyone but to have this image of “artists and poets dying young.” Maybe Kurt Cobain or Sylvia Plath. They made it hard for me to imagine life after youth.
It has been more than six months since I left home and decided to come back to Sofia. Once you hit six months, it doesn’t matter if it’s seven months or five years. It would all feel the same, I imagine. They say Sofia is an ex-communist city. I don’t know what does that mean. Life has always been noisy since I can remember. Criticism, arguments, disapproval, a lot a lot of elections. Life has always been free. You get to say whatever you want. There’s no one true leader. I used to disbelieve when adults told me the Chinese government will take you away if you have said things you shouldn’t. I used to find this ridiculous. How can someone do that because of the things you’ve said even when it’s true? How can someone be punished for telling the truth? It wasn’t until so many years later when I started travelling that I met someone who told me that it’s true. She has family acquaintance being disappeared. At that point, I started to believe many things; I started to believe tomorrow is never promised; what you have today might not be there by tomorrow. Of course, a lot of things has changed me but that’s another story.
But the truth is, even without communism or any type of visible structure, many people are still being punished for telling the truth. They said I’m gay. People said you’re sick. They said I’m depressed. People said just to be happy. They said I need help. People said you’re being ungrateful. Sometimes you're not even telling the truth; sometimes you’re being punished for being a girl, or with a wrong ethnic group, wrong citizenship, wrong skin colour, wrong class. We’re still being punished for telling who we are and who we want to become. It’s just a matter of luck; if you’re lucky, you have supportive friends and family or you can escape. If you’re not, well, I hope at least there’s someone by your side.
I’m lucky enough to have found a group of friends which I feel like my second family, even closer than my biological family. They accepted the way I am, the way I want to be. I am who I am today all because of them. Because they didn’t tell me to suck it up when I’m crying. Because they didn’t tell me I’m too ugly, my eyes are too small, too skinny, too loud, too weird. Because they didn’t tell me to be someone who I’m not. They want the truth. That’s why the truth is important. It keeps us alive. It keeps you alive.
I still think I might die young, but this time “might.” Because life is unpredictable but I can slightly imagine the future. People say you cannot change the world. That’s only half true. You can change the world by taking care of your own community, your friends, your family, people around you, people you care. How? By telling the truth and accepting the truth.
And what is there left to care if you die young or not as long as you’re telling and accepting the truth?
She gives me everything
And tenderly
The kiss my lover brings
She brings to me
And I love her
And I Love Her | Kurt Cobain
