The I resaliend The other day I saw my front neighbor washing the windows of her apartment. I wonder what motivated her to make such a task. If it was the quality of the view, her Sunday housework or she was simply bored. All of the three answers were answers, none of them was right or wrong. She wanted to do what she wanted to do and sometimes there is no reason, you just do it. Sometimes you don’t think, you just do. Impulses, I guess is called. You push yourself against the boredom, against the guilt of nonproductivity, against the dust, against stillness. You drive yourself in search of a reason to be. Even now if you stay outside static, resting or even just waiting, you get a sanction. Pressures come from external forces in all kinds of forms to remember you that you can not stay still, that you need to justify your existence by all means. The government asked to stay away from others, to not kiss, to not shake hands, to not get closer. You can not let people in your house, you have to reduce to go outside. Restrict and separate what should be whole. My body is defined by its skin, that I must wash 5 times a day. My promenades are mapped by my phone which is spied by the government. My mind is finite to the time that I am living, not further in the future because it is uncertain. And isn’t it so amazing? That suddenly future is no longer what I will but what I am allowed to will. As if future had become a right. In this case, I have the right to the future. I have the right to move, I have the right to want, I have the right to wish, I have the right to have, I have the right to live. When I say I mean Us. We all living beings have the right to move, We all have the right to want, We all have the right to wish, We all have the right to have, We all have the right to live, We all have the right of a future. After all, we are here related one to each other in this phenomenon so-called live and it’s because we living, we write, we right. All these concepts once free now held hostage by fear in our imaginary, by insecurities and our lack of power to move, to wish, to want, to have, to think. As if we had to prove ourselves of our ownership. Nevertheless, the future is not a price, either a fiction or a goal, but a fact. Because it is here all the time, because is due to us, because is what we should. But what should we due? Live. Life is due to us but what is that it’s exactly due to us? What is this future that is dues to us? What is future, if it’s not outside of us, but an idea? What is an idea but a plan? What is the future but the condition of the present? And what is present but existence? And what is existence but stilling, moving, willing, wanting, owning, living, thinking? We know it, is a fact, the future is about to come. We have thought about it, we have written about it, we have dreamt about it. We know it exists. Our multiple sensors, such as sight, hearing, touch, smell, taste, keep us informed that future is inside of us. The reason by which I do things is because they live in tomorrow, they will come back to me, they are data. Facts that notify the situation about something, in particular, reality. My neighbor decided to clean her windows, not because she was bored, or because it was a Sunday housework or because the view was dusty but because she needed to own her reality. She needed to converse with her environment, move in her surrounding, think the dispositions of her objects, talk to her plants because she cares for them, prepare dishes because she has vital needs, take showers because her body urge tidiness, exercise because her body needs motion. She performs her life at her scale. No bigger, no smaller. She holds her life because she is the size of her life.
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