The idea of kintsukuroi is one that’s held onto you for a very long time. Somehow you imagined that if you held onto it hard enough you’d have enough gold. And they have seen the gold, they long for the gold, but they do not want to talk about the cracks. About the number of times that you have shattered yourself against the wall to start again.
(but even then you remember that others have been shattered against the walls themselves)
Misery loves company.
Misery knows no company.
Adabu ya kaburi aijuaye ni maiti.
Even in the graves they have turned over to listen to the pumping that has kept you alive for longer than they expected. Somehow you were set up to run into walls, and somehow you keep running into them, and somehow they keep breaking. This is not through any super power of your own, you just ran into enough walls to realise that eventually they break – and that’s long after you’ve broken.
You just ran into enough walls to break.
And learned the art of kintsukuroi.
Still there is something romanticizing about this. Still a friend reminds me that everyone must, at least, be allowed to romanticize their situation; the world is cruel.
What’s wrong with imagining better?
I don’t know, I’m still trying to figure it out – but not this.
But I like this
But I don’t
So what now?
I don’t know