Optimism

"How much has been written? How much is repeated and rarely really understood? Repetition does not necessarily guarantee understanding. In fact, in repetition, as has been written many times, confusion is promoted. And in repetition, one becomes accustomed to lying to oneself, like someone who prays and prays and ends up believing in the power of the same prayer. Of course, not necessarily by believing in something; just repeating it is enough to be true. That may be why, in order not to contaminate the world with the same ideas, some decide not to write anything. After stalking their networks many times, the past wouldn't return. They were both different people. A lot, actually, and although many times the ideas of parallel universes in which they were both together came to his mind, it was something annoyingly repetitive. An idea that didn't allow him to move towards reality. It was annoying a lot. She was the one who had blocked him. She was the one who had slept with "his best friend," and she was the one who still played the victim. Why did he think of her? Maybe it was because of his passion or because, amid everything, she loved him.

On the other hand, there is also hope. In a joke, one could say that hope is the human opium and not optimism. But in reality, hope is very different from faith. Faith, in the end, is a belief. Something imposed in some way, even by the past itself. And hope? Unfortunately, it is destiny. And how is it possible that this future, based on the imagination and creation of the present, is something prophesied? That is why believing humans do not allow faith and hope to be separated. So, it is better to laugh with optimism. After telling her about her adventure in Atacama, she wanted to meet him and speak more in Spanish and French. Although he couldn't stop thinking about her, he simply saw her as one of his continuous frustrations. It was a cloudy and cold midday, and he was surprised to see her. He couldn't help but smile when they met. She did, too. Years later, they would remember that smile together while she held his hand in Atacama again. It was not a question of faith, hope, or destiny. That cold midday, they simply called for optimism.

However, optimism can be a doctrine, and nothing good comes from it. However, it is possible in realism to understand that uncomfortable situations can be taken as what they are, while those that can be considered good are constructed. But it is complicated for a human being to be a solitary optimist because, in reality, nothing can be better in solitude. Perhaps freedom, but this also seeks to be shared. And in any case, the doctrines are conveyed. Maybe that is why it is considered an opium of the people. That night, she decided to be who she wanted to be, beyond any desire. It was a hot night, normal for a December in which, already forty years old and after having gone from religiosity to promiscuity, a couple of weeks were enough for her to understand that it was about herself and not about her with others. In her apparent loneliness, she understood that it was not loneliness. It was boredom. And then, she could simply be free. Really. So it didn't surprise her that she fell in love with him and fell in love with him herself just a few months later. What she did do was understand love. She was very wrong about it.

A human being in his time says that his times are the end of all times. The worst. And it is not about being pessimistic, nor optimistic in the full sense of the word, but about understanding that in that realism, in adversity and dystopia (perhaps those times are the end of times), it is possible to create and deconstruct without destroying.  Destruction is easier and noisier, and it gives pleasure quickly, but construction gives happiness. And it lasts. There is optimism. It remains despite the difficulty of facts, which are only sometimes what could be considered best. He would take a little Ray de Saint Louis or something like that. Pleasantly surprised, he would repeat before going to sleep that the mountains were calling him. And it was true. And he was happy to be so close to them.  Pleasantly surprised, he took a second sip, savored it, and it was true... it had that orange flavor. One more time, with surprise, he took a third sip and savored it, and it was true also... it had that robustness. The two degrees of temperature and the moon that gave that brightness to the mountains complemented the moment and the landscape. An optimistic moment - he told himself. And he smiled."