I go home to my chrysanthemums and I feel like maybe these small acts of rebellion against despair are something important.
You see, I was thinking about what to write in this column when I feel like my head is about to explode. I doubt it. I could write about “the subject” from the start of the week, I could talk about how my stomach turns every time a new case of abuse, harassment, violence against women comes to light. Point out the heaviness of this requirement for the perfect victim, because if she is not traumatized, if she left with him, if she talks too much, if she likes the cameras so much, she will not be such a victim. Add to this how absurd it seems to me to focus the debate on judicial and penal issues as if ethics were worth nothing. And in all sectors, in all companies, in all professions, in all parties, everywhere, all the time, always. How tired, how tired.
I could also tell you about the sadness and anxiety faced with the catastrophic consequences of the passage of DANA and the fact that I cannot understand those who continue to deny climate change. Or worse, yes, I can. I can understand that the reason they deny scientific evidence is their own economic self-interest, which puts quick, individual profit ahead of caring for the community, the planet. How sad.
Sometimes you go online to search for information, to hear others, to read perspectives, but these places have become a parallel universe of polarization, insults and hatred. And then despair comes over her, because she may think that this is the world, and if that is the case, we are doomed to disaster.
And yet, in the worst times, we can also see the best. Employees of a retirement home save the lives of more than a hundred elderly people by carrying them by hand up two floors, a woman is dragged by the current when suddenly an unknown arm grabs her and pulls her out, a man breaks down a door to save trapped children, a lady hugs her dog while she is rescued by firefighters, thousands of people arrive with buckets, shovels and brooms in the affected areas, a group of immigrants cooking for their neighbors, people who offer their homes, their help, their listening, their hugs. And I remember what Machado said: in Spain, the best thing is the people.
Pessimism is not an option, defeatism leads us to inaction and we cannot afford it, we need active participation from each of us, because the future will not exist, we will. we will build and it will be as we want it.
Through my work, I have had the opportunity to interview philosophers and thinkers that I admire. When asked what the future holds, everyone agrees on something. Pessimism is not an option, defeatism leads us to inaction and we cannot afford it, we need active participation from each of us, because the future will not exist, we will. we will build and it will be as we want it.
And as I tend to focus my gaze on these little things which seem insignificant in the face of big events, in the face of sadness I take refuge in the hello that I say to the driver of the commuter train: “hello”, “hello”. In the elevator conversation and “we’re coming back, right? What a day, well, let’s have a good day!”, how ridiculously useful I feel picking up my neighbor’s Amazon packages when he’s not home him. “Thank you so much, Laura! The messenger called me and I didn’t have time to arrive. How is it going? “It’s okay, 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 complaining. My mother sends me a photo on my cell phone of the new flower that the ibisco on the balcony has grown. I smile and send him a heart. “I love you so much, mom.” “And I, my daughter, take care of yourself.”
I’ve been eating milk and oatmeal for dinner for days because I haven’t had time to go grocery shopping. “I can’t take it anymore,” I said to myself. I put on a sweatshirt and go down to the supermarket. I am upset and discouraged by this sick work system, by politics, by wars, by lives lost, by machismo, by housing, by the climate crisis, by existing in survival mode. But there are flowers in the supermarket today because All Saints’ Day is approaching. Along with the apples, eggs and milk, I place a pretty bouquet of white chrysanthemums in the cart.
I love it when I check out and the cashier smiles when she sees them. “How beautiful!” These arrived today. “Right? “How pretty.” I smile at him, hastily putting the groceries in the bag so as not to keep the next person waiting. I go home with my chrysanthemums and I feel like these little acts of rebellion against despair are perhaps something important This suffocation is sometimes combated by a hello to a stranger, by a conversation in an elevator, by a caress to a dog, by a small favor for a neighbor, by a friend. “take care of yourself, my daughter” or by flowers in a supermarket.
