Why Do You Do It?

Why do you do it?
Do what?
That. You know. Letting your emotions—or the voices of your soul—speak. Not staying silent when maybe someone else would’ve already done so. Aren’t you afraid?

You see, I’ll try to answer your second question as best as I can. I think everything will make more sense if we take it as our starting point. And allow me to apologize in advance if I start to ramble; sometimes the noise of my heart and mind is so loud that I get lost. But, mysteriously, I find a light in the midst of writing—it’s as if there, lies the couch where, as I rest, each idea, each feeling, each doubt, and even the tiniest fear begin to come to life. They step out of my body, out of my mind and heart, and stand before me. They pull up chairs from who knows where, and I observe them.

I try, desperately, not to miss any detail of what they say, no matter how implausible or insignificant it might seem at first glance. I watch every subtle movement, gesture, grimace. Even with what fear remains, I carefully try to decipher what their smiles and eyes remain silent about. It’s curious—they are the voices that live within me; yet even when they’re outside of their prison, they hesitate to express themselves fully.

Perhaps it’s because love, at some point, turned into un-love. Or maybe into some kind of unrequited or ill-fated love. Not hindered by itself—nothing was left undone, no battle was left unfought—but rather, the circumstances cut short the full unfolding of its divinity. And now, it waits carefully, not just for the right moment to leave my heart, because—if you don’t mind—I’ll confess: I am a dualist. I firmly believe in the division between body and soul, and I believe the soul has life. Sorry, I think I was going off track, but I did warn you that might happen.

Alright, I’ll continue. It’s as if it were waiting for the right moment to draw near to the heart and soul of another person, to enter them, and whisper how much it longs to live in them for the rest of eternity. Yes, not to live with them or beside them, but something far more powerful and transcendent: to live within them. To give itself completely. To merge, to walk as one through the course of life—not only this earthly one, but to go together beyond, on the day God chooses to free them from their corporeal prisons that prevent their complete union. That is where the magic lies—the divine and the sublime—of embracing the one you love. It is the earthly representation of the longing of two souls to become one.

But in the search to give itself to its soulmate, confused by time’s hardships, by the stones on the path that cause more than one blow, scratch, or wound, it learns—regrettably—to be cautious. That is, it loves unconditionally, with full surrender, but it also feels, also longs to be loved, understood, and cherished. It watches, and decides to enter that person, to whisper in the ears of their heart and soul, with the full hope of finding its soulmate there.

But it’s not a soulmate because they like the same things, share hobbies, or have bridges connecting common interests. That’s easy to find. You like reading? Go to a library, and it will be easier to find someone like that than in a football class. No, that’s not what a soulmate is. There may be many surface differences. I like the color red, and my soulmate likes yellow. You may find piano music enchanting, and your soulmate might find it boring or just outside their taste—it lies somewhere else, in another musical realm. And that’s completely okay. Because they understand that lies in the superficial, in the form. The union is born from the love of music itself, the desire to share it, to dance to the rhythm of each note, each lyric, each melody that, with every sound, binds them more and more.

This is the point where I fall short of reasons, confirming what Slavoj Žižek says is true: love is love, and when one tries to rationalize it, it ceases to be love. That’s the reason why I now find myself completely unable—utterly tied—to explain precisely what was written in the paragraph above. But believe me, it is the most beautiful thing.

When it rests in superficial differences, perhaps that’s where the deepest love lies—because it doesn’t dwell in the ethereal and fleeting, but in the sublime, the pure, and the eternal.

It seems, for now, that I’ve held the floor long enough, and I don’t intend to monopolize the dialogue, nor turn it into a mere diatribe or a poor attempt at a monologue. And forgive me if I lost my way and my response wasn’t clear or concise. Remember, some things aren’t meant to be explained—but others, not only are worthy of it, but their very nature demands a complete openness—without fear, without filters, without taboos.