Bookmark #737

Having spent the better part of the last month walking along the paved cobblestone streets under the shadows of giants, myths and legends, I am only humbled by what I have seen, even if I knew about those things before. It is always different when you see something on your own. We must always try to see things for ourselves.

Now, I know that is not always possible, and I do not see it necessary to highlight the importance of simply knowing things, too. But for the things that I have seen recently, for the hours I have spent in admiration—which are not enough by a large margin, mind you, to truly internalise the grandeur of the genius of a few people not too far long ago from where the calendar has managed to land today—have stirred something in me.

There is now a craving for a fresh start, of a change in my perspective about how I look at myself, these words, art, and the world at large. I want now to unify the two sides of myself: where I want to go (which has had the reins all this time) and where I come from (which I do not acknowledge as often as I should). Only when I accept both sides and see myself as a whole will I be able to even think of comparing to the greatness I envision for these words. Not for myself, no. No one is great in himself—what we do measures whoever we were when our time is done, and whatever it was starts and ends with us.

I see these days of walking under the shining sun amidst the crowds, walking on the same walkways and galleries that once inspired people to create impossible things, as a soft reminder of how there is still time, of how long a life is, but most importantly, I see them as a respite from the mundane. It has enabled me to embrace the regularity of my life again.

Since I have been back, they have asked me to name the most important thing I saw, and I have told them, as earnestly as I can: my days as I live them.

I saw them from far away, and then, I heard them call.

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