... 40

“You do not stop hungering for your father’s love, even after you are grown up.”

Paul Auster, “The invention of solitude”

Curious, his father never showed him, not even for a fraction of a second, that he loved him. And yet, there isn’t even a hint at accusation in his words. A slight touch of regret for the chances missed but aside from that-nothing. It must be the American way-to leave home at an early age; he just hasn’t had the time to feel there was a gap that had to be filled.

“crushed with happiness”-a phrase of three words only but so powerful in its despair.

Is it possible to build a life of your own as a mature person before resolving issues inherited from the past, before healing still open childhood wounds? And what if the answer is “no”? All that time irretrievably lost, vanished like raindrops in the sand, wasted foolishly and irresponsibly. We don’t have all the time in the world-it just seems like forever when we’re unhappy. The futility of my existence as an individual makes me feel doomed.

I secretly pride myself to be different and that is based primarily upon my proneness to focus on the big picture rather than my tiny little insignificant world. But what if I’m simply afraid to look at myself and my life? What if I’m simply afraid to face the fact I have no life at all to look at?

Do you suppose someone else’s mind is troubled the same way? Umm, hardly. There are few maybe, too few. Anyway, I don’t know a single person who would take those ramblings for something different than the raving of a deranged mind.