Sometimes, as snow is fluttering, painting hundreds, thousands of quadrant meters into a dazzling shade of white, I start wondering what we, all of us, who simultaneously observe the spectacle from the very edges of our windows, have in common. What is it which drives us uniformly? Does something like that exist, anyway?
Memories? Habits? Traits?
Non, of this. Well, maybe, though. But it’s this one peculiarity, even virtue, weakness yet strength, which connects the dots together we painted all along our way.
Language. Competing is our prefered language while it sets the tone and rhythm of our lives. We, in a grotesque synchronicity, speak it as a mother tongue.
Our hearts are competitive industries, after all, but what is even more, our mind, the very place that hosts the most substantial resource we carry, has turned into a monopoly. Constructing a barrier to the world of ideas, filtering every foreign piece and bit away. Indeed, all we create is a paradox, by denial of tying and teaming up, though, our language is in perfect synergy.
The only force we join is the conviction of ourselves.
And isn’t the sole conviction of ourselves just like snow in the end? Spreading itself resolutely in the early days, but as soon as the sun, the heat comes up, melting away, diminishing, without leaving a trace, like it had never even been there before?
I was wearing:
Shirt via Asos
Bag Fendi (see it in this munich streetstyle post, too)