The sound of birds caresses my ears; because of the same sound, my heart is bouncing at the same rhythm as the summer song of a free creature that admonishes me with its song. I'm sitting in a small mouldy room muffled with the dense thick canopy of the old oak tree. I wrapped my legs with my thin, pale arms that have very little strength in them. I closed my eyes to allow other senses to take over my body. The smell of sea salt is itching my nostrils while the sound of the waves of the same water is sinking me into deeper thoughts.
I remember every moment spent in this little place, which was once for me, when I was little, like a whole kingdom, and now I'm barely fitting in this little cramped space of life and my history. So many memories. I think to myself.
This moment brings me back to my childhood, at a time when I was running around my old grandfather's legs when he was making this holy place. I remember his grey moustache and rare gray hair. His moustache and this little brittle place became like two sacred amulets, deeply carved in my heart. This House, although very old and, now for me, tiny, is the only part of my grandfather’s life that has been left for me as a memory, of course besides that famous moustache I will never forget. It scares me to think that this may be the last time I can visit this place… I didn’t want to think about it, so I quickly dropped that thought and continued to pay attention only to the sounds that bring me back to the beauty of life.
I move my gaze and with my small blue eye, I see something that sends chills down my spine. There it is, the box. I remember that small box, it used to be so shiny and now, it is rusty and old, like me. I get up and come just a bit closer so I can grab it with my tiny fingers with rusty bones like my box. I felt a shiny drop sliding down my cheek, it was a tear of happiness and nostalgia. When I opened it I found a letter. Yellow, rough paper with tiny spots on it that just shows how old I am. I opened it and began reading.
Have you ever shed a tear so heavy that you felt pain through your whole body as if the mountain fell over your shoulders with it carrying all the wishes that crumble every day that passes for rejections that you can not control and immensely want them to be, instead of rejections, something like „we want you“? Well, I felt that. I have shed many tears that would make me so small, I would feel like I don’t exist, but when I come here, I feel like I own the world, and that is how every person should feel when they find their happy place. I know that I am not the only one going through „things“ but I still feel like I am alone in this... Yes, there is a lot of people just like me, but there are not beside me, they don’t know me, thus they can’t help me.
Life may be challenging, but sometimes I feel like it challenged me to the point I feel like screaming „WHAT THE HELL, I’VE DONE EVERYTHING!“, but nothing, no one hears you. Sometimes I feel like I am stuck and trapped in a tiny glass box. I am screaming, I am crying, I am shouting, but... nothing – no one hears you, because the present you, the physical you is someone that people can hear, and see, but while the real you is stuck in that glass box, no one will feel what you feel, and no one will know what you are going through.
For years I have been trying to break the glass, and break free my real self, but I couldn’t. There is just ONE reason for that, the glass can only be broken by the outsider – someone with so much power, someone that can do a thing for you that you don’t have the power to do it yourself. For every person is different. I can bet, that every person, just once in their life, felt as if they were stuck in the glass box. For some, they can be the one that can break that glass, but in my case, and for what I want in my life, I need an outsider.
That miniature part of me – that is trapped inside of a glass box – is so loud and so heavy that feels like the whole universe is trapped in just one little mind that is my self.
I feel like I can’t breathe, I feel like I am drowning – the glass box gets even smaller with each day that passes. Every day is getting harder, and harder, but I am not giving up. That glass box can not hurt me, it can’t and it WON’T kill me, because I am stronger. With each day that passes, not only does the glass box becomes smaller, but I am getting STRONGER. You need to feel weak so you can feel strong; you need to feel powerless, so you can feel powerful; you need to feel sadness, so you can feel happiness. Remember, that GLASS BOX is getting smaller, and you are getting stronger, so that means that the box will break, and the glass will shatter. All you need to do is to believe and stay strong. I love you my future self. Don’t ever forget that.
I was only 19 years old then, and now I am 74 years old. Thank you my past self. I feel like I own you something – I broke the Glass Box, not long after I have written this. I got up and came down the Oak tree from my tiny treehouse with my rusty box in my hands. If there weren't for the ladder i would be able to climbe to my tree house, or come down.
When I came closer to the beach, I took my shoes off. I started walking over the hot sand that was scratching my feet. The wind was colliding with my body slowly moving the edges of my pearl white dress. A wave of freshness and the smell of sea salt slapped my face. That was the best slap I have ever received in my life.
When I came closer to the water I could feel the cold waves crashing over my legs. They were so simple, yet so alluring. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath trying to feel all the feelings that this place was giving me. Then, I opened my box and took the yellow and rough letter from it. I placed the box beside my legs. I stretched my hand and rose it high. I looked up, watching my past self dancing in the wind. I let go of the paper, and there it was... my past self was flying high in the air coming closer to the beautiful blue sky, finally free. Now, I have officially set my past self out of the glass box.