Questions (originally published on a Monday…)

Today it’s Monday, yes. Monday, that day so many hate. That day I also hate sometimes. And, nevertheless, it’s going to be a Monday on which I will give way to this new adventure I am now starting with you. Who knows!! Maybe Mondays are not that bad after all…

The warm summer is about to turn around the corner and September is reaching for the crystals, to bring our feet back to the ground. While I re-read these words I think about making, maybe, a good first impression, and I also ask myself what I shall write you. Questions, that’s it!!! Why not write about questions? All of us ask ourselves things every day, all the time. There are easy questions and hard questions, but all of them make conditions out of something. Where shall I go? A trip. What shall I do now? An action. Which career shall I choose? A future. Shall I stay with you? A life.

Questions are that essential part of our lives that help us go forward, the gear that clicks and opens or closes the door. Sometimes they are the beginning of something, sometimes they are the end. But they will always be the coal that fuels our minds. What could have happened if man hadn’t asked himself how he could start the fire? Or how could he fly like the birds? Or cross the seas like the fish? There is no doubt that intelligence has developed on the basis of asking questions which, inevitably, required a search for answers.

And, on a day like this, I asked myself: why not? Why not let the letters go, those that are hidden in the drawer of oblivion? Why not feel once again the pleasure of interweaving words? Why not dream again? And something happened. Something clicked and woke up the yearlong-sleeping motor and I was caught once again. And here I am today, walking, asking myself where ti go on. Asking myself, maybe, about the sense, letting myself be carried along again. Because I discovered that, sometimes, the answers to your questions don’t come if you don’t let yourself be carried along. And sometimes the only answer is time…

Now that I think of it, while I finish these lines, I ask myself if today, a Monday like any other in which August is packing luggage while I arrive, I ask if maybe you have liked me…


By: Lidia Villalobos (España)

Author of Letras & Poesía


Translated from Preguntas by Luca Arnaldo

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