LIVING IS NOT AN ART

February

—We should write a diary —comments Ana after everyone leaves the dining room, our multi-purpose room and where Justin gives me wood with "you should have something with Ana".

—What a great idea —I exclaimed without much conviction, the last thing I'm interested in is writing something about my life, and even less so with a girl I hide the fact that I like her; although we share many things, I don't feel interested in building something further.

—What a sourpuss —she sighs—, you should stop wanting to be sad all the time.

—What makes you think of that? —I look at the windows and then at the place where the kitchen is supposed to be, nothing has changed. How do they expect me to change my perspective under this oppression?

—Come on Michael, you're not an idiot —I encourage her to continue with a wave of my hand because I still don't know what her point is—, you set out to be sad, it's like before you wake up you decide what your day is going to be.

—This is called routine —I debate her idea or rather "criticism" and as always I end up giving in to Ana's comments, it is not easy to resist someone who knows how to handle her moods wonderfully, sometimes I wonder if there is something wrong with me, I cannot take anything for granted, on many occasions I have been told "live in the present" but always in my inner self I answer When is the world wrong? Better not, I prefer to be another token for those people who think of a magical world without problems, I like to remind them that suffering is bigger than their optimism.

—Michael, I can imagine what you must be thinking.

—Oh... yes? —for the first time all morning I look back at him.

—You say to yourself "life sucks" you must already have an argument for every misery in human life or failing yourself, yet don't you get tired of attracting pain?

—Ana... I know I must look like a spoiled child, but I don't set my mind to "today I'm going to be sad" just some memory comes and my mood changes.

—All right —she says diplomatically—. What's got you so focused that you left me talking to myself earlier?

—In my defense, I did pay attention to one part, I think you mentioned that Otaku don't bathe —I smile at her, but she takes it the wrong way.

—I mentioned the Outsiders and made the comment that they live in their comic worlds and at the end I compared them to you.

—Thank you —I make a big movement with my arms, my shirt is pulled down revealing my scarred cuts to Ana, I notice her expression of disgust in a fleeting way, although I already know what she is up to, I don't think I have the same strength to go on without feeling so hurt —now you feel sorry for yourself— says a part of me that still believes in change.

—Well? —she urges me to continue with her question, I was thinking of going off on a tangent, but I must admit now and always that nothing escapes Ana's attention.

—I was thinking that the institution doesn't help much, just being locked up under these white walls makes me more crazy...

—So now you are interested in living?

—Not really, it's just that there are things I'd like to do before I think of something like that; everyone should have the opportunity to do something they love before they leave this world and if there is no afterlife, there will be nothing to regret.

—You do like to talk poetically —she smiles in a way that puts me at ease, just knowing that I have someone who doesn't bring back bad memories, not to mention her second suicide attempt.