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As If I Were A Man by Paola Carbone   |
One afternoon I felt as if I were a man. When I tell people what happened, men usually stare at me, their eyes revealing a veiled denial, as if I had entered a highly private realm. Then when I say what I experienced, they react with sudden aggressiveness. It is a sense of fragility and weakness I lived. Unexpectedly in fact that day I realized that men do not have control on life. Consternation, because of that truth. I never wished I were a mother: I almost believe I possess a strong unnatural counter-maternal spirit. **** It was like an explosion deep inside, and I knew: she was! Still I did not know how to find her or where she was, but she was. Somewhere. **** When I first felt her she was so little. She told me her name and I did not understand it. Not even today do I know if I call her as she really wishes. But her name is such a beautiful name. I do not feel what mothers usually say they feel for their own children. Neither that complete transport of the mind, which I do not know. Neither pride. Neither the joy to speak to her or to touch her. Neither such an affection that makes me desire to protect her. Neither do I feel she belongs to me. **** In order to meet her I went to the source/fount of time. For a moment my thirst of knowledge faded and increased at the same time. I felt satisfied and it was Unity all over. I tried to understand what it was. Beauty was its attribute. It was perfect, unnamable Truth. But only attribute and Beauty. **** I had met. That’s what it was. **** When years later my vulnerability almost made me lose her, she was there. No longer young, but adult, wise. She had unexpectedly grown and was so much better than me that I was embarrassed. How much better children can be, and what subtle sense of inadequacy in recognizing their reasons, but also what a pride. Your mistakes become clear to your eyes, but nonetheless sometimes you do not know how to invert your way in order to follow what is just and simple to their eyes. And you wonder how they can love you. To love a parent is not natural, it is to be learned. But how can you believe that it is happening to you? **** In that moment her colours were those painted by her father. **** Well, I have seen her in her own essence. She is Will. Do not ask me about her scent, character, loves and preferences, her brittleness. This I cannot say. I do not look for her. But we know she exists. **** I am talking about a never born daughter. But she has offered me the colours of Beauty and the desire to touch her, to speak to her, and the fear to caressing her soul with mine. |
