For long,
nothing was precious to me, or even something that was reserved for certain souls.
I thought that life, with all that it included, was the starter pack and that eventually, valuable things would arrive in mine—valuable enough to make me scared to lose them…
Younger,
I ran so fast and frenetically that it led me to “break” several times.
Ran so fast that even as I get older, walking or resting might seem Herculean, even as a thought.
Money, status, relations, achievements… “Having” was my precious.
But at some point,
”I have” was no longer enough.
Felt like walking in circles—not a virtuous one.
Especially when “I am” was mostly defined by “I have.”
And at some point, I felt like “I have” was a comfort.
Why ? Felt like becoming a robot, almost mechanical; I knew every step that would come.
It was comfortable.
Comforting, not confronting.
It was easier to be defined by the outside rather than to choose.
Choosing was scary; I mean, “what to choose?” and, most importantly, based on “what?”
What is precious to me?
Taking time… To recall
my soul.
To witness my growth.
To remember my peace, my garden, and what needs to be fed.
Precious
isn’t just only about my writing. It’s also one of a theme carried in my photography series created and baptized Metaphysic; a fine art series born from moments I stopped running and began to witness.
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