A walnut rests before my eyes

Summer.

Summer!

Summer…

How many summers do I now have under my belt? Twenty-six… twenty-seven? When asked how old we are, our answers do not falter… but what are the questions we’re actually answering to? How many years have passed since we were born? How many years we have lived?

How many summers have I lived?

The answer: not enough!

Are they not enough because I want to live many more or maybe… Maybe it’s because I didn’t get the chance to live those that I could…

Definitely… not enough!

Not enough dips in the sea.

Not enough cherries eaten!

Not enough beetles caught…

Not enough watermelon juice wiped from my chin.

Not enough stars gazed at!

Not enough fields slept in…

Not enough love… felt.

It feels as if all my summers have been like this… just… never enough!

Why is that? Is it because summers were different when I was a child? Or maybe summer was just a time of freedom that was marked between June and October. If it was always hot, would all weekends feel like summer? Or would every weekday feel like I’m missing it…

I remember when it all broke… That first summer of being rudderless, lost in the tide. The lack of warmth, of fresh air, of freedom. That’s when it all became a myth, something to ever dream of but never fully live. I live it still!

It was a warm night, a typical summer night of the city. I had finished working on the paper a couple of days back and turned it in. That was the protocol, have everything spick and span for the great day. It was around midnight and all I knew was that I needed to finish my presentation. It was the last thing that needed to be done. Two more slides and I’m ready. Two more slides and I can go to sleep. Tomorrow it will all be over.

I’m lazy, I’ve always been lazy. Maybe lazy isn’t the right word for the context, I’m I’m just… industrious, effective maybe?! I need to speak about my paper, but what will I say? Should I write something down, I’ve never done that in my life, I just spoke. In the end, I’m the one that wrote the paper, right? Why should I learn it by heart? Seems redundant, honestly. I’ve never done it in my life. Why would I do it now?!

How do I feel?

I feel anxious? I don’t know this term yet: anxious. Do I feel… scared? No! Being scared is about something from the outside, there’s nothing from the outside threatening me. I guess I feel… unsure? Yes, unsure!

How does unsure look like? It looks like five-six words rushing into my mind, sinking in my gut, being swept away two seconds later, never to return. That’s what unsure looks like.

Wait! Unsure is a feeling, why do I look at it?

Wait! If it’s something to be seen? What do I feel? I… don’t… feel…

Back then I didn’t really feel. Now… now I feel too much. I miss not knowing that I can feel… things.

I’ve decided to scan what I’d written and copy-paste some key passages. They will be useful for my speech. I’ll wing it, like I always do! Time to get some sleep, it’s late.

I’m not alone, my friend is here with me. Tomorrow’s a big day for him too. He’s also feeling unsure. I can see it written all over his demeanor. He stops me. I can see it in his eyes. There’s something more there. He doesn’t just feel unsure.

He looks at me and asks: How do you always get things done? Is there something else behind these words? Is he right? Do I always get things done? Did I always get things done? I don’t know! I calm him down and go to sleep. Tomorrow’s a big day for me.

Someone told me that I live so that I can dream. I love to dream. I feel in touch with myself when I do, really in touch. It’s… it’s as if I can only be myself when I dream, no matter if I’m running away from something, fighting demons, monsters, or maybe building something, working… even failing. It feels… true. True to myself.

That night? That night was something else. I tossed and turned in anguish, caught between lucidness and sweating hysteria. An avalanche of being, as if… as if something had awoken inside. As if… pain… that’s all I remember… a new pain.

When I awoke, I no longer felt like myself. Everything looked clearer and murkier than ever before, both together and separate. I felt… things. Things I had never felt before, not like this. They felt broken. I… felt broken!

I got dressed and then we left.

Outside the window of the car, I can see the bridge. I’ve been across this bridge many times. Never like this. I’ve never seen it like this. Where am I heading?

It’s 10:00 AM, and the sun is scorching. It’s going to be a sultry day. The suit is sticking to my body and sweat is forming up on my forehead and at the back of my neck. What is this feeling? It feels so… artificial. So empty!

We need to get to room 107.

People are waiting in front of the door, students. I recognize some of them, I’ve met some of them. They invite us inside. All of us! Why do they invite all of us?

The room is immense. They arranged the desks like a horseshoe and are sitting at the head, across the room. I make my way to a chair on the left and sit down, my notes in front of me; a paragraph for each slide. I take my pen and I trace the words on the paper, repeating them religiously.

I can still see the number 8, highlighted in red.

I recognized the committee. Four years I’ve studied under them, four years of being mediocre in front of them. The head of the committee addresses us, welcomes us as his colleagues. I’m sure I don’t amount to much in his eyes.

Will I be his colleague after this? His equal?

I’m number 7 on the list. That’s two hours of waiting… at least. We start. A boy goes up and starts talking about cables.

Cables!

Cables…

What… what’s going on? I can see the paper in my hands, several numbers highlighted. Cables? My teacher praises him, says he’s a top student. I wanted to design a boat, and he yelled at me. What am I doing? Where am I headed? Where… where am I going after this? What do I have? I have a girlfriend with whom I fight and a shitty job at a call-center. I don’t have a place to sleep, that’s mine.

Where am I headed?

The boy sits down. I feel dizzy. I’m looking at the piece of paper in my hands and I don’t understand the words anymore. My lower lip is trembling. I need to get out of here for a bit and get some fresh air. I still have time.

Am… am I going to fail? He warned me about this. He told me the story of the student that froze. Is that what’s happening to me right now?

There’s a bathroom at the end of the hall. White tile everywhere. Looks as if it was designed for an asylum. I double over near one of the stalls, no longer having control over my body. I never felt so scared in my life. My hands… my fingers looked like lobster claws. That pain was fresh too. I needed to do something! I needed to save myself! How?

Mom!

The sun was blazing high in the sky, ruthlessly. She didn’t answer. I often asked myself if it would have changed things had she did.

I sit on a bench near the front of the building with my head in my hands. Tears are dropping on the pavement beneath my feet. It’s so hot that they just disappear. A couple walks by and pities me.

They pity me!

I want to get up and crush them with my bare hands. I… I… the tears… they just keep flowing. They won’t stop flowing, and my body… it’s no longer my body.

There’s a walnut tree by the entrance and the wind is caressing its leaves. I’ve known this tree for years now. It’s so beautiful! It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen in my life. The tears flow faster now as shame engulfs me completely. I know I won’t go back inside. That truth now lives inside my bones. I don’t have the courage to do it anymore. I can’t… lie anymore.

Something deep inside is stirring, and it grabs me by the throat. I will not give up! I will rally home and I’ll return one day.

I will make myself proud.

I will!

I didn’t…

It’s been three years now, and the tree is still waiting for me at the entrance. I’ve seen it twice before, behind the veil of tears and sorrow.

Forever beautiful, always ashamed.

Today I’ll see it one more time. It will be my last! I wonder if it’ll be for the right reason…