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LIBURUARI BURUZKO
KRITIKAK

 

1987ko irailak 15

TRIAL OF EXPLANATION

 

        I hear the radio and I watch TV, I read newspapers, poems, romans, I go to the cinema, I walk in museums... I do all that, I go to sleep, I rest lonely with myself and I feel I am a good guy, a boy who is doing what he must, and it's beautiful this sensation of happiness. But sometimes I stay with my friends, boys and girls, and I see they don't care for me. If I were a stupid boy I could understand it. I sometimes feel broken for that. But it's so easy to understand. They don't care for me just because I don't care for them, I really cannot care for them. There's no communication, there's no friendship at last. They are, most of them, good boys and girls, and they have done really good things for me when I have needed it, or, simply, when they have got an opportunity. But really most of the time they have not that kind of opportunity, and me too to do the same with them. And our lives they pass so apart the ones from the others, and it seems they have not any remedy.

        When I am lonely —with myself, like I did say before— I think friendship is possible, is normal, is necessary. And this sensation grows when I am with the radio, the TV, the newspapers, a book, a movie... And if I really like the book or the movie, the feeling of joy grows so much that I sometimes get really excited, I think things can get so easy and I feel so near of the revolution of ideas on my mind. And I really have got some ideas that I think they are good ideas. But those ideas never could get any solution to the problem I have mentioned before.

        The matter is that I usually get communication with works of artists that I like, easier than with people I talk with, with people of flesh and bones.

        I think the problem I have exposed does not belong only to me. I think there are so many people —even between my friends— having the same problem, feeling the same feelings, which are really difficult to understand, and so to explain. I have tried it during the writing of this text.

 

 

 

© Juan Luis Zabala

 


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