Slowly but decidedly, Pepe climbed the creaky old stairs to his parents’ attic. Once he had arrived he looked around in the poor light for the chest that he knew had to be there, among all the other things his parents had collected over the years. His intuition showed him the way and a few moments later he knelt down before the chest, which was covered in a layer of dust. He felt his heart beating heavily when he let his hands glide over the rusty latch. Then he cleared his throat, folded his hands for a couple of seconds and unlatched the chest.
Tomorrow in the Netherlands, it will be Remembrance Day, and the day after it will be Liberation Day. It’s days like these that give me mixed feelings. Is it a good thing to remember those who gave us our freedom and then celebrate this freedom? Well, maybe. In this way we can experience gratitude and be aware of the importance of freedom. On the other hand, it makes us focus on suffering.
“Why?” he asked and looked up at the tiny clouds slowly drifting by. “Why am I being deserted again?”
At that moment, his heart grew heavy. He did not understand why she had left him. Why he had lost her.
Then he looked down again, at the trees to the right, and he walked over to the little lake that lay hidden behind them.
Unrest in the world, unrest all around me, unrest in my heart. Situations, things, people turning my world upside down. All of this created by myself. Through my beliefs, my thoughts and my reoccurring drama. They push me under, they ravish my sense of well-being. Their pitch-black thunderclouds cast my world into darkness. Uncertain and utterly unworthy is how I feel.
‘Why didn’t I tell you?’ it sounded in his thoughts, and in his memories he again saw and felt how, he and his father used to hug in the past. In those days, they both expressed clearly what they felt for each other. Later on, when he was grown-up, it became less. Even though deep within, the fire of desire raged to tell his father how much he loved him and how thankful he was for him.