We are not supernatural, we admit our limited abilities and annoying mood swings. We pride ourselves on the multiplicity of roles and bearing burdens. Despite our fragility, we challenge ourselves and drive ourselves to the secret Guantanamo prisons for discipline and torture, reaffirming resilience in the face of crossroads and their iron bumps, with long-term guarantees for shocks and sensory disasters. We cling to our outdated decisions, we fight for ideas that were not created for us, and we defend people who will not be with us after months or years. As if our skins have not had enough of repeated tanning, revealing its sculpted effects that we gaze at when we stand in front of the mirror of age, bowing. Our courage fails us, and our pride betrays us in the face of the piercing harshness and disapproving looks at the ignorance of what these poisonous experiences have left in our souls.

Let me clarify the matter more simply for your weary body to accept. When you put your hand in warm water, a trembling sailor, who loves the waves of mystery and contradictions, flows through your bones. You dive deep into it, relishing the gradual rise of its heat, harmonizing with your tissues and blood vessels, until it reaches high temperatures rejected by your nervous system and shunned by your mind for exceeding its natural resistance limit. At that point, the watchtower sends its immediate warning alarms, so you quickly shake your hand away from sources of pain, hating them, surpassing the burning pains and deforming bruises left by the duration of time you decided to endure as a test of your capabilities.

You join many who have been able to overcome their pain to rise again. They did not accept the idea of being a doll that is pampered in leisure time then thrown in the middle of the road to be run over by passing vehicles because they are no longer a priority. They went on intellectual marches demanding not to be treated like a piece of polished ceramic dirtied by their dirty shoes and debilitating requests until its edges were eroded and its smooth skin filled with holes, no longer a pleasing sight or serving a purpose. They stopped making sacrifices for those undeserving after having enough of watching time devour feelings and sprinkle dust on their faces like black halos.

I admit it is not easy to protect ourselves from harm and hardship. There are many parts of our life that we cannot control, either because we are holding on to too many standards, ideas, and habits that burden us with grief and enslave us, or because of the fears that fill us from changes with rugged paths, and our lack of self-confidence and belittling our abilities by forcing them to satisfy the desires of others and allowing them to expose us to marginalization and constant criticism, which hinders our successes and blurs our talents, all of which are flimsy excuses collected in one jar we sip from in the final scene.

To discover their exploitative ambitions, the more you give them your ropes, the more they increase their weights and tighten their grip. They look at your concessions with disdain and ingratitude, they are not concerned about the sacrifices you embrace to warm your frozen dignity, leaving your wounds bleeding without bandages, whenever they are about to heal, they surprise its ulcers with salt, to watch you drown again and again like an anchor.

But there are extreme limits and a point at the end of the line that signals the end, we have to learn how to see it to turn the page, deliberately bidding farewell to all the black dots, strict in our priorities and fully aware of the refreshing art of giving up before being given up on.

So, I say to every person who failed to get rid of this bitterness, ask yourself the precise questions that you can answer clearly without fear of confessing  the truth that may be apparent to everyone except you. Then you will distinguish and differentiate between your flowers that bloom and perfume your morning breezes and the ugly heaps of coal sitting at your door blocking your vision, puffing its smoke between the hands of your life compass to deviate from its course.