Sometimes I think that we, as humans, actually enjoy arguing. When nothing seems to be happening and routine settles in too comfortably, we decide we are perfectly capable of spicing up our own lives. Why wait for stressful events or uncomfortable situations when we can light the fuse ourselves? The problem with arguing, however, is that you need someone just as easily ignited. Otherwise, you slip into a kind of Cold War, where it no longer matters which side of the fence you’re on. Silence wraps itself around you, and it becomes one of those moments when you feel utterly alone in the world. There is only one other moment, in my opinion, with the same intensity — one that can make you feel just as alone: when you are at the height of happiness. But that is another story.
I have to admit that this has not been a particularly successful week. A fever, a stuffy nose, a dry throat — and, strangely, an overwhelming sense of calm — have settled into my small apartment. Along with them, a persistent desire to do nothing. Dolce far niente — the Italian art of doing absolutely nothing — is beautiful when it is chosen. Less so when it is imposed on you. And yet, in the end, perhaps it is not entirely out of our control. In my case, my body made the decision for me. It pressed pause when I refused to.
The Cold War lasted from 1947 to 1991 — a period of geopolitical tension between the two superpowers of the time and their allies. I did not live through it, for obvious reasons. My parents and grandparents, however, spent their childhood and youth in those years. I listened to many confessions, sitting in the small kitchen of my hometown in the evenings, after endlessly long days, a cup of green tea warming my hands. I loved listening to my mother tell stories — sometimes trying to teach me a lesson through her own experiences, though the lesson would often get lost in the details. And then, with a half-smile, I would sigh, imagining times that felt distant and almost unreal. They were not stories of princesses and fairies. They were stories of standing in line all day for bread, hoping there would be enough left for your family; of scorching days spent working in the fields, the cart filled with grapes that belonged not to you, but to the collective farm. And yet, my mother — like so many others — chooses to remember mostly the good parts.
She, as an ordinary citizen, felt the tension of the Cold War keenly. Life under the Soviet-influenced regime left people preoccupied with the struggle to survive. And yet, eventually, the Berlin Wall came down, and the Iron Curtain fell.
And in those moments, even if pride urges us to wear our mask of indifference firmly, we realize that childish and absurd conflicts can often be resolved quite simply—with just a single word.
The ultimate truth is that loneliness and I have never truly gotten along. While I enjoy my own company and, like any self-respecting woman, need moments of peace, loneliness itself dislikes me. The ultimate truth is that I like having someone to witness my daily life…
-AE
