Saturday, July 01, 2006

Mostly Harmless

I love my home.
I love to know where my things are. I love to know that I can decide to place them somewhere else. I love to know I can lock myself behind the door and switch the phone off. I can tell other people not to touch my helmet or not to enter the other room. Because I have not cleaned it for two weeks and I would be ashamed, but I am not going to tell them that. I'll just tell them not to go there. I cannot do that kind of stuff at someone else's place.

I love my parents.
I could not explain why. They are my parents. Sometimes they seem to me so old-fashioned. I did feel ashamed of them when they told something particularly stupid or behaved in a particularly stupid manner before my friends. I do not approve some of the opinions they hold. Still I love them.

I love my city.
I love to know where places are. I love to know how to get there. I love to know how to get to know, if I don't. I love the fact that I share this knowledge with other people. If I tell them a funny story about certain place, they would know what's funny about it and laugh. I love the smell of chestnuts, as you might already know. They do not smell the same way in Paris. Also, they do not smell the same way at other cities of my country. I love Paris. But I prefer being in my city when the chestnust trees blossom.

I love my country's nature.
I do not know if it is the most beautiful nature in the world. To be honest, I do not care whether it is. I love the mountains I've been to with my friends every summer. I love those particular thickets and clearings I've spent nigths with them by the camp fire. I love exactly the places I felt happy at and I will do again. I have not been that, lets say, in Sweden, and am not likely to. I guess that is why I do not feel love to Sweden.

I wish I was writing this in Bulgarian.
I love my language.
It is nice and I have a good command of it. Certainly better than of any other language I speak. I think in my language all the time. I need not to think about the rules of grammar when I want to say something complicated. I don't get tired of using it. I can make puns and other people who speak it will understand.

I love the stories of my people.
That is - the stories, which make a people's history. I do not love my country's history - I rather construct it and I know it. I love the stories. They are interesting, they tell things I like, they inspire me and I feel good. They confirm I am not mistaken about some things. Sometimes they frighten me. Both ways, they teach me and give me pleasure. They also remind me of my childhood.

I love my people.
They tell the same stories in the same language. They live in the same cities and in the same homes. I do not have to explain basic things when I talk to them. Sometimes I feel ashamed when they say something particularly stupid, sing something particularly stupid or behave in a particularly stupid manner. I do not share and approve all opinions they hold. But I love being home.

Sometimes people do kill of love. But generally love is considered to be good. Mostly harmless. Let me be home and enjoy it - and I will remain mostly harmless.

3 Comments:

Blogger ffox said...

nice. very.

seems kind of self-convincing mantra, rather than infromation provided to someone else, tho.

of course, i might be wrong. :) but, to paraphrase actually several sentences - in affairs of the ego, paranoia is a must !

3:01 pm  
Blogger frostie said...

Accept the facts - there are messages which do not aim at providing information to someone else :)

5:04 pm  
Blogger ffox said...

so, my paranoia was right?
it is a self-targeting mantra of.. mm... resolve? :P

5:25 pm  

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