Those Who Danced
Walking down the streets of Barceloneta, I could hear the sound of the wind whispering in my ears. I could feel the multitude of people conveying an amazing energy. Some were bursting into tears, and some into laughs. Young children were standing up on their feet, learning how to walk, while young adults were getting prepared for their dinner shifts. On my right, humans made themselves present on a road to a marvelous beach, yet on my left there was nothing but the ocean whose waves invited seagulls to dive in one by one to grab a fish from the endless sea.
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Behind me, the past. The past which reminded me why I was there that precise moment. The past that tinkled my brain and wouldn’t let me forget the missing piece of the puzzle that would complete my life; it was right in front of me. Literally.
It seemed as if it was only yesterday I had seen his brush painting the unspoken. I remember, he was in his room listening to Roslyn by Bon Iver, and he was working on his art as if it was the last day of his life. His back was turned to me, and he didn’t know I was staring. Could he speak? Well, he didn’t back then. He couldn’t do it in a society like Quito, were rumors spread as fast as hypnopedia in Huxley’s world, and were uniqueness is nothing but an abnormality. Could he paint? He had to, but this memory came to me on this day when simplicity became perfection.
Now, my brother’s hand was finally wrapped around his boyfriend’s neck. We walked for a few minutes until I didn’t care anymore about my surroundings. I didn’t care for the sound of people. It was as if I could experience a profound silence with my breathing being the only thing syncopated with my steps. It was simple yet perfect. Is he happy? I questioned if the words I said to him a year ago changed him as they changed me. Don’t be afraid, I wrote in his diary once. I told him not to be afraid because, as Friedrich Nietzsche once said,“those who danced were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.” For you can be whatever you want as long as your happy. For you can say anything you want, and do anything you please as long as you don’t regret it.
So as we got to the beach, we sat down. They were looking to each other, staring through all those moments in which they had to shut up back home. They were now portraying the meaning of true love. So I decided to leave them alone and I climbed on top of a huge rock. I saw them kissing as they couldn’t care less about what people thought.
There’s no better gift in life than the possibility of being different. There’s no better gift than looking back and feeling that everything was worth going through, that everything happens for a reason, and that everyday we are meant to learn a new lesson. As the sun was embracing the city of Barcelona, painting its walls with a bright reddish color at the end of the day, I closed my eyes and I simply smiled. I closed my eyes and understood it. I understood the real meaning of happiness. I felt a warm chill in my skin and that’s when I heard it. I heard the music.