The inculpable honesty of this piece nearly withers us as readers. There is a delicate balance between the said and the unsaid, as we are drawn into the uncertainties of our own relationships and our own decisions, considering not only the marks we have received but those that we have caused, as well. Thank you for your risks.
Let me share a secret. That of the "two selves", ie, the bombastic and, at times, performative self (I very much enjoy making people laugh) vs. the emotional restraint or refusal to state what can be implied when it comes to my writing. Two different registers within me. Probably the reason why, when I'm writing or painting or involved in any artistic endeavor, I'm in a trance-like or free-fall-like state. Weird but true. Or, at least, I perceive it to be so. Then, once I'm done and walk away, it's as if the work was done by another because there is a certain amount of "wonder". That is to say, "Where did that come from"? I disconnect that I've never come to understand. Go figure! What a strange mix we make.
This letter describes my relationship with my deceased mother almost to a tee. The knowing why she was the way she was allows me to understand, but it doesn't stop the anger or sadness that now follows her ghost of over fifty years. Often when I think of her and feel the anger welling up, I have to remind myself that she's dead ... long-time dead. She's no longer an active part of my life, but memories will always haunt me until I can no longer remember anything at all.
I love the way you use language to describe this poignant story. I wish I could write like that, but I guess it isn't my voice. Thank you for this story.
I found myself almost holding my breath as I read this. I had a difficult relationship with my father, who was a distant man. probably suffered from depression. I internalized his coldness, my fault? he died young, at 43. I was 15. I have so much inside that needs to be said. oh that I could find the words, as you have. beautiful writing, Luciano.
The inculpable honesty of this piece nearly withers us as readers. There is a delicate balance between the said and the unsaid, as we are drawn into the uncertainties of our own relationships and our own decisions, considering not only the marks we have received but those that we have caused, as well. Thank you for your risks.
Let me share a secret. That of the "two selves", ie, the bombastic and, at times, performative self (I very much enjoy making people laugh) vs. the emotional restraint or refusal to state what can be implied when it comes to my writing. Two different registers within me. Probably the reason why, when I'm writing or painting or involved in any artistic endeavor, I'm in a trance-like or free-fall-like state. Weird but true. Or, at least, I perceive it to be so. Then, once I'm done and walk away, it's as if the work was done by another because there is a certain amount of "wonder". That is to say, "Where did that come from"? I disconnect that I've never come to understand. Go figure! What a strange mix we make.
Thank you for taking the time, Damon.
This letter describes my relationship with my deceased mother almost to a tee. The knowing why she was the way she was allows me to understand, but it doesn't stop the anger or sadness that now follows her ghost of over fifty years. Often when I think of her and feel the anger welling up, I have to remind myself that she's dead ... long-time dead. She's no longer an active part of my life, but memories will always haunt me until I can no longer remember anything at all.
I love the way you use language to describe this poignant story. I wish I could write like that, but I guess it isn't my voice. Thank you for this story.
Thank you for your kind words, Sue. I look forward to catching up on your writings.
I found myself almost holding my breath as I read this. I had a difficult relationship with my father, who was a distant man. probably suffered from depression. I internalized his coldness, my fault? he died young, at 43. I was 15. I have so much inside that needs to be said. oh that I could find the words, as you have. beautiful writing, Luciano.
Thank you for your kind words, Ivy, and thank you for taking the time.
So painful, so beautiful. Filled with hurt, compassion & clarity. Made me realize how profound a problematic legacy can be. Thank you for this.
Thank you, Ellen, for taking the time.