Maze: noun, complex system of paths or tunnels in which it is easy to get lost.
I do not recall anything from the period after my family was gone. No matter how hard I try, these memories persistently evade my mind. I remember pain though and I recall anger mixed with disbelief.
Wrapped in a black cloud of mist, I recapture discussions and arguments. Friends and relatives attempting -and not all in good faith- to play the Good Samaritan. As if resolving my altercation is the last remaining open door to heaven.
But how could they? How could an abstract advice resolve a very personal and intimate crisis? And how could an hour of talk rebuild what took years to fall apart?
One day, maybe three months later, I got out of my room and went into the living room, for the first time.
Hesitantly, I laid down in an old sofa and tried to watch TV. I couldn’t find the remote. Then I realized it. I know almost nothing about this place I call home.
I don’t know where most of my cloths and my books are.
I don’t have a clue about what’s in the kitchen million drawers and compartments.
And although I am an engineer, I found that operating the washing machine or the dishwasher is a considerably complicated task.
It is true when they say “Home is where the heart is”
I am definitely homeless at heart.
At a certain point, during the course of life, we all meet the grey ghost of failure. However, what is far more difficult is to meet the white knight of defeat.
Especially when the fall is colossal.
Even as you are trying to get up and put it all together, you look around; everybody is staring. But none with affection.
An old track plays in my ears “Everybody loves winners that’s why nobody loves me.”
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