Mother through God
Elsa, it’s been a long time. I never thought I would have the courage to call you by your name. Throughout my whole childhood you have been “Mami”, so to have you immortalized as Elsa is like watching a frolicking pond freeze into a sober silence.
Your tender hugs, your graceful demeanor, your immaculate mercy, I miss it all too much. You would always spread your wings around your wretched drunks of children; shielding them from the world even as they plucked out your feathers. You would give them allowances despite their gambling addictions, your heart continued trudging for ideals until its last beat.
To not only have met you but be raised by you, was a brighter miracle than my birth. Even from a statistical perspective, this arrangement should’ve been impossible. In a third-world country, full of violence and a lack of medical expertise, it would’ve been lucky to see you live for 80 years. But to then survive my birth, and meet you at a “healthy” age, that’s beyond luck. It’s so fortunate that even an atheist would believe in destiny.
Even now, your love means everything to me. When I think I hate the world for its wretched actions, your memories take me back. They console me, remind me of the beauty of free will, and help me forgive them. If it wasn’t for you, I would live life solely for myself. I would view those around me as mere seasons, coming and going. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have accepted catholicism.
I would’ve rejected the idea of Christ. A God of unconditional love, assured prosperity, and respect, what an impossible combination. But still, I saw Him through you.
Like the wood’s lingering smell on a lumberjack, I noticed His love. Day after day, I appreciate this quality of you more and more.
To be a vessel for such a noble intent, how painful it must have been. To reject humanity’s tendrils, to avoid selfish reliefs, and to indulge in simple joys, how admirable that is; like watching coal shine into a diamond after an eternity in hell. How refined your soul must be, God bless you, Elsa. Thank you for our time together.
Stillness for the restless
The human consciousness, what a marvelous mystery. It’s a beautiful system, subjective to experience, yet uniform in the face of reason. To have such intellect ready to pounce at a moment’s notice, how delightful it is.
To experience the world and catalog it, to theorize about its beginnings and ends, such is the joy of a human. Truly, to be human is to watch and learn. Even in our genesis, we were curious, anxious to walk, and desperate to copy our parents’ words.
In the end, many of us share our curious findings; take Socrates, Plato, Ludwig Wittgenstein, even grandparents. They all tell us what they learned through any means they can, be it a letter, talk, or recording. Their promotion for refinement proves the beauty of growth to be one subjected to time.
Their love for their fellow man demonstrates humanity’s need to learn. It shows how even in their last moments, people will prioritize their truths over their proper wellbeing. In a way, they exchange their deep-velvet lives for enrichment toward the young- as if they recognize the yearn for knowledge.
Now, as much as I love the human psyche, experimenting with it is simply irresistible. All the curiosity I have bubbles in my heart like mentos in a coke.
But, thanks to public opinion, manipulation is wrong, and so I’ve had to refrain from experimentation- until two years ago, when my aspirations cried in joy.
When my father introduced me to chess, I was hesitant. I was speculative about the promises this “simple” game offered. My father insisted it’ll make you smarter, it’ll teach you how others think. But ultimately, everything clicked when my father boasted: Maybe you’ll outsmart me.
In that moment my heart fluttered, unresolved feelings resuscitated, my mind bounced in anticipation. My blood boiled at the chance to beat that man, my being was like a battery short-circuiting, heating up to molten yellow – just moments before exploding into glory of sparks.
As much as I love and appreciate that man, he is my caretaker – my shepherd, and is therefore given authority over me. And while on its own, divisions of power shouldn’t bother me, my dad’s circumstance as a stepfather just… irritates me.
His lack of ethos, and supposed overcompensation of logos just gets me going; the alleged but missing need for him to prove his points is my Achilles heel. To me, it’s like watching a kid pour salt over a snail; I want to put him in his place so bad, but I can’t. As a juvenile, the only opening I have on my father is through logic and fact.
So with hate as a late catalyst, and curiosity as a foundation, chess evolved into my perfect expression of emotion.
The liberation of my frustrations allowed all of me to focus on the moment. In those thirty-minute sessions, there was no moral compass weighing me down. All my plans for domination, all the forecity to expand my dominion, they were my strongest allies. In those moments of release, nothing tarnished my excitement.
Through all the adrenaline, sweat, and fear of exploration, I still thirst for chess.
Daily, I want to test my friends, those closest to me; I wish to push them to their limits, see what it would take to crush them, but only out of precaution. I yearn to see what makes us tick, I desire the foresight for problematic situations.
Oh how I want to learn by fire, and feel the full burn of actions; what a mangle of feelings.
Truly, without chess as my window into freedom, the war within myself would continue raging without remorse.
