“Who are we? Why are we here? Is there any point?”

— (via minuty)

Margarita Karapanou, tr. by Karen Emmerich, Rien ne va plus

I would not wish any companion in the world but you. — William Shakespeare

Sue Zhao // Dialogues on Love #4 // “Maybe I already do”

“I think very early in their marriage she had a flirtation with one of her coworkers. My father was livid. But instead of leaving her, he decided that he’d make her miserable. He moved our family back to his hometown, far away from everything she’d ever known. And every year the treatment got worse. He felt threatened by her. It wasn’t just that she looks like a movie star. That’s part of her appeal, but it’s so much more. She has this love of people that you can feel. And it draws people to her. Dad could never compete, so he diminished her whenever he could. My mother wanted to be an actress when she was younger. And Dad loved to tell the story of the first time he saw her perform. He called it ‘the most ridiculous thing he ever saw.’ It was clear that Mom missed her old life. Her nostalgia was a constant presence in our house. So many times I’d find her singing an old song, with tears in her eyes. As if she was mourning something she’d lost. Finally at the age of 58 she found the strength to get a divorce. She moved back to Sao Paulo. And slowly her joy began to return. She began to visit with old friends. She joined a chorus. She enrolled in university, and during the first week was elected leader of her class. During this time we became very close. I was so inspired by her transformation that I wrote a play about a woman who had reclaimed her spirit. We raised funds for the production. And I asked my mother to be the narrator. Not only did she accept, but she threw herself into the role. She insisted on memorizing her lines, even though they were meant to be read. But during every rehearsal she forgot her lines. Not once did she get it right. We begged her to read them, but she always refused. ‘I’m not a narrator,’ she’d say. ‘I’m a narr-actress.’ On the night of the performance the entire theater was filled. My mother had even forgotten her lines during the sound check, so I was shaking with nerves. But my fear melted away as soon as the curtain came up. The room grew very still. My mother looked the audience in the eyes, and delivered her lines perfectly. She was so calm. And confident. Like she’d finally arrived in the place she was always meant to be.”

but happiness will find a way in. it will be small moments. look for them.