Sometimes, I forget. Deep in my heart, I forget that we are the makers of our own stairway to heaven or hell. At any one moment, with every wish and every sacrifice, thought, emotion, we write the pages of our history. So often lately I let myself get carried away by the steady current, chasing an elusive stability, getting wrapped in details, because all that inner energy needs to be spent somewhere.
This is when I need my stories – to inspire and to soothe my anger – the stories of other men going against the current, against all odds of defeating it. An immigrant businessman’s son, who grew up in an emblematic American dream, with a degree in engineering, returned to his home country to become an actor, not even knowing how to speak his own language. And – made it. So much so that millions across the world know him.
It’s not even the plot of a movie, or a TV series. It’s a true story, worthy of televising to inspire generations. Is there anything impossible if you believe? If you truly want it? Ah, there’s the drag – if you truly want it… There’s the question I always had an answer for, before something snapped inside. That blade that made me forget.
Of course, money helps. It gives you that confidence that the world is yours like nothing else. Grown up to believe that you can either follow your heart or make money — well, I suppose I was never poor enough, so I chose to follow my heart. But then life hit with its obligations, and I started losing the faith that a heart is worth following – such little thing, so fragile and fickle, broken in so many pieces, scattered across the world, each pulling in its own direction. If you try following them all, you’ll lose your way, not once, but a myriad of times. Ah, there’s my answer now – my broken heart. Nothing like a shattered soul to leave you standing in the middle without a clue of what you truly want. Direction? Goal? A journey? An artistic accomplishment, mayhaps? Recognition? Glory? Power? All these words – how about simply satisfaction? That’s why it was easier before, that’s why I had all the answers, and I remembered, everyday, that each day is my choice to take a step further – a battered soul knows no boundary it cannot cross, but a shattered one has crossed them all – in pieces.
All that’s left for now is try to remember – each affirmation that I still hold the pen that writes my story glues tiny shards of my broken heart together.