What do strangers think about?

What do strangers think about?

In these moments of suffocating calm, which almost kills a person from the pain of loneliness, the details of life are clearer. Here are moments of frankness with the soul. At this moment, you can only find yourself to touch and talk to you! Frankly, I do not know how those strangers who lived with them until decades passed away from home, or perhaps returned after being destroyed by the days, months and years. They became depleted, depleted bodies, like the old elephants of the ancestral cemetery, to join them. Perhaps it is a black image that can not be heard - not to believe - all my friends passionate about travel, he does not see in the alien only money and pleasure and change and lower then more money and pleasure and the minimum.

But they do not think about the equation as a whole. They do not think about the moment when you come back after a noisy and enjoyable night with your friends to your little house. You open the door, and you do not find anyone handing over to you, you can not find the warm embrace you used to and the familiar sounds that come to you when you enter. The simple things we deal with every day in our home as an already acquired right, you will not find! Only you will find those terrible moments of silence then silence and then more silence. It will not be interrupted except perhaps your talk with yourself or some of the verses from your Bible or chanting from here and there. All this is not because you want to hear or read or hesitation, but only to escape that terrible silence, just to forget that you are here all alone!

I will receive a lot of criticism and ridicule and perhaps anger and ridicule of this view. I fully understand that, for many, I am now "overcome with grace", a denial of the good and the lonely. I imagine maybe someone - but I'm sure - will tell me you're counting on your home you love and go instead of you to enjoy and take that chance that you do not seem to like very much! I do not blame any of those voices that may now make me laugh. I saw some things in my life and I imagined seeing them at first glance as easy, but when I tried them myself I realized their difficulties and sometimes my inability.

But what are the untidy things I'm talking about? What do I want? What is my purpose in this? Perhaps it is my most out-of-order writing, but that is because it reflects what I feel, the confusion and confusion between conflicting feelings and conflicting decisions. I chose to write in the midst of that unbalanced psychological state to be my words emanating not only from her description and expression. I am now part of the actual dialogue between myself and myself. I do not know. Am I happy or sad? Enthusiastic or lazy? Exhausted or hesitant? Without a point of origin attached to me by the safety cord I will inevitably draw into the waters of these violent seas. Waves, storms, storms and fast-paced events are almost as engulfing as the drowning water is about to perish, and without a life jacket you will find yourself already finished.

I try to calm down and control my feelings. I do not forget how much I felt like a helpless little child when a student took me six years younger than my official papers. I used to laugh, take me here and then, talk to the staff in his own language, which I do not know and speak in my name many times. I know they are talking about me, they ask me some questions and I answer them in English, which I know very little about. What is that thing that I lack? I may remember those days that I spent without reassuring my friends and relatives. I hope that those moments will come back now to speak to them and hear their fresh voices, which would have been so much of me in these bad situations.

All the false masks that I wore in my country fall from my face with ease when I face this terrible silence, the silence of alienation, silence in the midst of the noise. You hear the sounds but do not understand, the laughs are issued, but without feeling happy, the sadness and sorrow burn you, but no one hugs you or reassures you. Is already a strange, heavy word that probably will not realize its meaning except from a visibly encountered statement.

But in the middle of all that darkness and pessimism that may have overtaken my writing this time, it does not push me to continue but a glimmer of light in the last tunnel of painful dark gloom. I came here because I have a cause and a goal to pursue. I am not here on a picnic or holiday to enjoy myself. If I expect pleasure, I will certainly be disappointed because I will not find any pleasure here, except perhaps short moments of the experience of the new and the uncommon, perhaps the stinking of this fearsome silence I try to escape. But this is not a sufficient reason alone so I can continue the journey.

I came to live even a small part of what I write about him and I lecture about him and I call him in my words and my opinion and my writings. I did not come to turn into a huge billboard for the West or to help paint the rosy picture of life in exile. I have come to break the idol of strangers in my heart. That magic key and the lamp of Aladdin, which depicts the media and the cultural invasion, which in our minds is the solution to all our problems and crises. A belief that destroyed many principles and destroyed many of the nation's human and material capabilities and destroyed many of the previous and future generations that have suffered and continue to suffer from the family instability that results from alienation.

I can now look deeper into myself, taking advantage of the silence that reveals the details of the soul and its shortcomings in order to deal with it and return to my homeland after a period of recovery and cleansing, a person who has won over his desires and anger and has been able to devote his time and effort to work to achieve a list of specific goals. And is now returning to his homeland to serve the vulnerable and develop in the lofty construction left by his grandparents and parents after suffering and effort over thousands of years. A heritage that is cherished only by those who know its true value and live it, and not underestimate it except that its mentality has been lost in the face of the Western cultural invasion, which distorts all that remains of our heritage and our national identity. Only with this mentality can I overcome the darkness of this gloomy absence.