Days go by. Winter has been absent this year. There was a very short period of winter, but now it seems to be gone. It's grey outside. We live in a twilight zone between the darkness and the spring. Everything is still dead. EVerything waits to be born again. There is nothing new to say.
I sit alone in darkness thinking about the crisis of my identity. Like the nature, I also feel like living in a twilight zone. If existence comes before essence, then what happens when the premises of existence change? I do believe that existence determines essence; otherwise our being would be quite pointless. However, the most difficult thing to do is to realize the construction of being and essence; to realize the true existence of the self. After the moment of realization follows the great anxiety, but once that anxiety is over, comes the moment of relief.
I have to make peace with my new identity; with the new premises of my existence, the new mode of my being-there. I am in a mode of transition, in the moment at which the past and the future intertwine. Nobody understands me because of this, and thus I end up hurting everyone I know, even if I do not mean to do so.
Oh beautiful solitude. Once you were my only true friend who stood by me no matter what. Wistfully I think about the times we shared. Together forever, I thought. Now we meet only very occasionaly, and it is not the same anymore. Times do change. Our paths have part. But it's better this way.
My journey continues. Self-analysis is sickness. I am sick. But I want to heal. And I am on my way...
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