Letter No. 47: Questions on the Wall
“Right before I sleep, I look at them one by one, I read them out loud in my mind, and before I shut my eyes off, I would pray to find the answers in my dreams”
It’s been a long time now. I have been contemplating on my life for months of not writing you. It’s worth it. Have I found my worth in my absence yet?, for sure it will always be a work in progress, like those questions posted on my wall.
When I was young, I had a lot of questions in my head; like how a plane flies and how gravity defies weight. I was amazed to see what science can do. When I turned seven, it got even more complicated; like where dead people go and what intelligence truly means, something a rocket scientist couldn’t explain in a few sentences. There were days when it got into my nerves, thinking that right there and then, I would stumble upon the answer. I was wrong.
Then I got exposed to a bigger world, I crawled into the pages of Paulo Coelho and James Patterson. I met the writings of Stephen King and Nicholas Sparks, the biggest influences I have, whom I thought I would get the answers from, but I was wrong. All they teach were nothing but mysteries; like the mystery of life, love and suspense. But if there’s one thing I learned from them, it’s the art of curiosity.
So I built a wall inspired by these writers; like how Sparks questions the endless possibility of love to the other side, just like how Coelho questions the conspiracies in the universe, like how King questions our belief in fiction, and how Patterson questions the imagery of the unseen, I built a wall, full of questions.
In my room, I built a wall with notes of questions. Some of them read “How do we quantify a quality like love?”, “How does love feel like when we’re dead?”, “What does it feel like to be truly perfect?” “Could there ever be any other colors in the wheel that we don’t yet see?” “What if the person you see in the mirror is real, and we are instead the reflection?”
Right before I sleep, I look at them one by one, I read them out loud in my mind, and before I shut my eyes off, I would pray to find the answers in my dreams, hoping when I wake up, there’d be one less question on the wall, and if I don’t, I’d carry this to wherever it brings me. This wall is my way out of curiosity. It doesn’t mean overthinking nor making things complicated. It keeps me going instead. It’s more like I guess a poetry sung, or a kept painting. I call it an art of my own. It’s true indeed that views of men and things cannot be vegetated in just one little corner of the earth. But it’s on every little corner that it sprouts.
They say if you have doubts, write it. If you have feelings, write it. If you have dreams, write it. It gets higher probability of becoming true. If you happen to try it, it will surprise you, you would know a lot, other people don’t know.