What happens when you get to the point where you understand that there are no meanings? I don't know. Lately, I have been doing a lot of thinking on what happiness might be. I have been doing a lot of thinking on the meaning of life. Why am I here? What am I supposed to do? What makes me feel I want to keep on living?
There was a time when I thought love might be the answer. I am here to love and to be loved. To share my life with someone, to raise my kids, to watch TV on the sofa and hug my wife. I also thought I would find a nice job at university and teach the boys and girls something completely useless but entertaining. I also thought entertainment was a good reason to live for.
Yesterday night, back home from Jamboree, I started thinking about it all over again, and a terrible headache took over my body. The same one I am feeling now. It's terrible, you know. It starts as a terrible pain in my forehead, and then it feels like there's something boiling inside my head. I feel it now, right now, and actually I find it very difficult to keep on writing.
It makes me feel like I arrived to a limit I cannot trespass. It's actually just that: there is something I cannot understand, something I can somehow see but doesn't cristalize completely. It's there, but I can't grab it.
And then those images come to my head. My mother, a man, my girlfriend, my youth, a river, me as a child in the dark with the same headache, my father asking whether he should take me to hospital. And me, always me, keeping everything inside, not explaining anything, convincing myself that there's nothing to explain. All over, all over, all over... up until now.
Up until now, to this night. Up until now, up until I have repeated myself so many times that there was nothing to explain. Up until I don't know anymore whether there's anything to explain. Up until where meaning does not exist anymore. Where there are no meanings.
Is that what you call growing up? That headache... I should sleep.