What we really look for. Artificially filled-up sunday

"We will never stop being those children which stayed into class while the others went to the playground, to the court, to play during recesses. We will always be there, for we can neither forget not scape such heritages, such memories, which are not implanted or determined, but nevertheless hide in our subsconcious for ever. And thus, we turn all we achieve into trophys, and thus everything becomes just for show, only to try to forget that, decades ago, no one would choose us for the soccer team. So we turn our job, our wife, our car, home, attitude, celebrations, holidays, clothes.. into nothing but trophys, measuring our degree of happiness by what others do think of them, ignoring that such criteria are as volatile and artificial as the time it takes to forget what someone told us about his last car, house or wife. Just woke up from another saturday night in my empty bed, in an empty house. And this is it, regardless of what might happen yesterday till seven in the morning, or how I might have been welcomed by everyone. Facts and figures talk of loneliness, regardless of measures of success; of sexualisation of love; of looking around and having to get out of home to look for a home in places where you feel in company. Loneliness may be of the soul and not physical, but it does strike, with such force, determination and cruelty, that it leaves us wondering whether we took the right decisions when we said goodbay to those which didn't deserve us. When we didn't say hi to those we deemed unworthy. When we divorced. When we didn't reconcile. And thus, loneliness of the body -regardless of that of the soul-, embraces us not as a friend, but as maybe only dead, the unbearable lover, does. And then, we turn to either physical company or to artificially induced oblivion through drugs, alcohol, medication... and thus, everything we want is for time to pass when, as certain dutch prince, no one knows what awaits us after we cross the threshold, or after today passes. But rationality, nevertheless, tells us that we do the right thing when we keep being alone, waiting for the right person to come to spend the rest of our lives with. But meanwhile, I would ask God (mine or that of others), do we have the right to be happy, to look for other company, for props, or are we doomed to fall into the arms of induced loneliness?. It is sunday morning; I've slept five hours -thanks God, I don't need more- and I feel alone, and nothing serves me to scape this feeling, regardless of the rational neurodepressing nature of alcohol. And I would give anything to have someone to say goodmorning to, for a hug, to help me forget that this morning I have been able to make 180 degree turns with my arms while in bed, for no one was there, for no one is here. And I have looked for throughout all the house, believe me. And no one is".

(Excerpt from Luis Fernandez Antelo 's essay "the entrails of the soul")