My father is a singer. My father is a deep voice, solid: a hammer. His voice a hammer that melted like acid to my inner being. He speaks very loud normally, so assertive, so secure. He always told me I was not able, not enough, not smart, not right. He put it very clear in bold letters: you can’t. You are a sad boy who will never succeed in anything. But besides his voice, I saw him doing what he wanted in life; his example was stronger than his voice. But his tone and word have always been like a mantra, like a loop inside my head, and from my head a highway to the rest of my being. I can still listen that voice inside of me, it’s clear, powerful and reverberant. That is what made me what I am. This “you can’t” was my engine and my fuel. As I became an adult I even did amplify it and found multipliers that transformed that single voice into a chorus, a huge symphonic father-like-chorus singing for this guy alone a massive “you can’t”. Thanks to this voice, to the war that it made inside of me, I did something in life. It saved me from my own mediocrity. This torture brought out the best of me; it provoked rebellion and resistance, a rage more powerful than ten horses. It transformed a grey middle class small town into ‘La Rèsistance’. I am someone as long as I get something to get opposed to. Since I don’t have any special talent, or anything special to say… my talent was to survive my father’s inner voice and overcome, to find my own voice to speak louder and become it’s master. My size was given by the enemy I defeated. That’s why I chose a difficult one: my own origins. I killed you with my love dad. The opposition I did to his voice made a strong muscle that nowadays takes me where I want. A “you can” would simply have ruined me. This muscle I developed allows me to do anything I want in life, fearless. omg! Sounds so epic boy!!
Now my dad has changed. He is more tranquil. He has learned to love and to support his people. His actual voice is that of a companion, I need it, and I love it. But I still keep the other one active. It gave so much to me. It’s my war. My most beloved conflict. What are we without our wars and battles? My scars make me feel secure and give me an identity, I show them to myself using the construction-character I’ve build with my artistic work as a mirror. I must keep the threatening reverberation inside. That’s my homeland… Or not? Maybe it has already accomplished it’s task, and it’s nothing but an old remain, a pose, a stinky corpse. Maybe it’s time to let it go. To welcome peace time, demobilizing troops, integrate into civil society, surrender the weapons, to learn to be and to live without the sound of the bombs, without the threat. Would I dare? Could I stand peacetime? Today, meanwhile I was taking a shower, I thought that I want to die when he dies. He brought me to life, and he should take me with him when he leaves. I wish I could die at the same time than my father. wtf! Now sounds so tragic dude!!
Fuck you too