It must be all this hocus pocus going on around me, day in, day out. I wake up every morning and I am confronted with more of my old dilemmas, I thought I had swept under the carpet. Wait a minute, was it I, me, Christina, that I had swept underneath the rug, a part of my history? It must have been while I was daydreaming that I went and committed this odd act, I swept my history under the carpet.
It must have been a morning when I was drinking my cup of coffee and listening to the morning news that I realized what I had just done. I remembered of my carpet in the living room and suddenly I freaked out. Was it that this carpet had a most peculiar history that nobody will ever know?
Okay, let's be clear here. I am using imagination and metaphors, to bring forth a sentiment of sorts. A sentiment of remembrance. I did sweep my history under the carpet and by doing so, I hid it from my friends, my lovers and everybody else that came across me. What was the intention of this act?
Did I do it by mistake? Had I forgotten, or was it that some things are better left unsaid? It must be that I live in the age of feelings and sentiments, so much that I forgot to feel or remember what brought me here, at this point in time, where I am, as a writer and a person, I guess.
Am I happy or am I not? Am I sentimental or am I not? You know something...I will leave it for you to decide...As a writer, you are my judges, as to who I actually am. But, listening to the news today, reminded me that I am not the only one, on this planet that has swept their history under the carpet.
It must be a human condition, to sweep the dirt under the carpet and cover it with beautiful decorations. Mine is a fluffy white carpet, like the snow of NYC winters.
The question is: What color is your carpet? And what do you remember hiding under it?
Tell me, I am your friend, after all :)
