there are bad days in which everything goes wrong and you question every life choice you’ve made and you stumble over the awkward silent conversation with good-looking people you just happen to work with on sundays afternoons. and for some reason this happens every time you meet someone you unconsciously think has the right to judge you, someone who is standing at the top of the staircase you have the certainty you will never reach, similarly to those dreams in which your feet won’t let you to move.
so it happened that i didn’t even say bye when i left and just awkwardly ran away even though we were walking in the same direction, i swear i don’t like overthinking situations like these, and really i’m not that kind of person. i had to draw a decoration for the LGBQT fiction shelf in the bookshop today and i was coloring a crooked rainbow that looked pretty much like a doodle of some 5-year old kid. this pony-tailed grey-haired man started a conversation on braque and picasso and told me i had to be an artist, and really we talked about colors and architects and my really bad cold for a good hour. the childish boats i drew did not look so bad afterall, floating in their blue, simple crayola shades. and as if that was not enough to save the daily unbearable thoughts that this unknown man has courageously chased away from my mind, once my little drawing was finished and pinned to the shelf, a woman approached me to tell me my job was something delicate, hidden from the obvious and loud one of those people counting money, and carrying weights, and even tidying shelves. she had been watching me since i started, and showed me the photographs she took of me while scribbling and doodling on the floor, in the corner of a busy bookshop during a busy sunday. and she said that she could not see, and every time she took a photo of something she would go home and be excited to see it in its integrity and in its details through the big screen of her laptop. she said that the more she looked at things and situations the more beauty she could see in them.
in that moment, i was glad i was one of those people who carry every stranger’s word with them, being it nice or being it harsh, who prefer to save than to ignore, who give importance to every gaze, to every movement of the hands, i was glad i did not learn how to “just forget about it” when someone shouted at me even if the fault was not mine, or when a man went away raging because i could not provide the answer he was waiting for. i’m glad i get hurt when i cannot make someone’s day a little brighter.
there are too many bad days in this life not to appreciate the poetry in a silly drawing or in a photograph of the littlest, hidden thing. and i am so glad i am one of those people who are capable of this.
i was at the bar waiting for my drink when i noticed that a man in his 60s was looking at me. he approached me and whispered that he was a photographer once and that i had the most mesmerizing profile he has ever seen. i looked down because i did not know what to say, and when i turn to him to thank him he had disappeared.
i just stand there with a silly smile on my face. i felt as beautiful as the cold solero drink i was holding in my hand.