Going back some decades, I find myself admiring my grandma, when she was telling stories to my sister and I in bed. Her storytelling made the summer afternoons magical, stirred my imagination, so much that every single day I was looking forward to that moment. At the end of the day, I always wondered to myself, ‘How cool it must be to get old and know all these stories’..
Going a few decades ahead, to now, I still admit how cool it is to know beautiful stories, or better yet to make up new stories, and invite others in the world of wonder and magic and mystery and fun. For me, storytellers are like a dark chest of tales and wonders. They weave the threads of the world with their words, imbibing life to what was before imagined or keeping the world in motion. From writers of books to grandmothers. From the man sitting next to you on the bus telling his story on your way home, to the love story revealed by a single look in the eyes of a lover..
Oh, I should not forget, my grandmother used to ask often in the end, ‘What does the story teach us?’.
Truth be told, not many have that privilege, growing older, as my grandma.. You are supposed to get wiser, you are supposed to be taught lessons, but that is not always the case..What did the story of your life really teach you?
And truth be told, getting older, our hearts get cracks.. some get c-old-er.
Truth be told, I repeat, getting older, our hearts get cracks.. but others get g-old-en.
There is the japanese art of repairing with gold the broken objects, named kintsugi, creating a ‘new’ perfectly imperfect version of the ‘older’ one, the cracked one. What they do is fill the cracks with gold, because the fact that the object is broken and has a history makes it more valuable and beautiful. In the end, broken and older is better than new..!
I have come to realize, age is a number and really does not say much..
I would dare ask ‘how many cracks has your heart?’. This question must say more..
And much more, ‘did you become cold or gold?’