The Albanian Beauty in her Eyes
This summer I went to Albania with my family on holidays. Every August we traverse a foreign country for about three weeks. It’s always a place with access to seaside — the condition indispensable when you have kids. There’s no real holiday without sea bathing for them. With that prerequisite on mind we’ve visited France, Croatia, Montenegro, Italy, and Albania this year.
Of course every year I take a book with me. My choice is always random. Or maybe it’s not that completely accidental as I make sure the novel I take is full of the sun, set in a warm country, where the nature plays, if not crucial, a very significant part. Thus, during summer holidays I’ve read, for example, “Love in the Time of Cholera”, “Chronicle of a Death Foretold” both by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, “The Sun Also Rises” by Ernest Hemingway, “Perfume: The Story of a Murderer” by Patrick Suskind.
This year, shortly before the departure, I came across “By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept” by Paulo Coelho at a street bookstand. No. I’m not a Coelho’s fan, but I thought, “What the hell, it would more or less match my summer mood, so why not? Especially that it costs 2 dollars only!”
A great part of the novel has turned out to focus on God, more specifically on a feminine face of God. No. I’m not His (or rather Her or maybe Its) fan i.e. I’m not a religious person at all. There are moments when I suspect God might exist only to give up on the suspicion the next minute. However, I do think that the idea of God is so beautiful and I do regret I haven’t been given the privilege to believe. I hope one day it’ll change though. For the time being I envy all those lucky ones who don’t doubt and just know and/or feel it. Nevertheless, I always find it interesting to hear about God as what could be more engrossing for us, human beings, than the eternity after this brief performance we deliver here on earth? Nothing, as a matter of fact.
God is not the central theme of the book though. Religion is only an example way of achieving happiness and fulfilment in life. The central theme is, to my mind, achieving them through releasing oneself from the shackles of the rules and expectations imposed by society, family, the time one is born in. The aim in life is argued to be the liberation and finding one’s own personal, unique way of living.
Well, I know quite a few older people living in small towns retired who haven’t lifted a finger to do anything they shyly aspired to deep inside, e.g. they have failed to visit the places they’ve always dreamed about. Before retiring they’d done mundane work bringing them neither inspiration nor satisfaction, only little money making both ends meet. This little money made a TV set their source of everything — information, entertainment, a window to see sites outside their hometown. Now, once they’ve retired, their daily routine is arranged according to a TV program. In between their favourite serial and a quiz show, they do talk, mainly about their failed dreams, their frustration and disappointment.
I know many young people who have blindly followed a certain pattern of living a life — christening, first communion, confirmation, engagement, marriage, a flat/house, two children — preferably a boy and a girl, two cars. They don’t ask, don’t question anything, don’t reflect on whether or not that’s what they truly want or need. They feel they do the right thing that their parents and grandparents did before them. Yet at times this feeling haunts them that there’s something missing. The suspicion comes they’re not truly happy, but then that’s probably the way it should be. What is happiness after all? Another fairy tale depicted in sentimental films or novels. Let’s stick to something more tangible like new kitchen furniture or a better car.
I also know the enlightened people who have succeeded in breaking free from what their family or community told them to do. And, well, it wasn’t easy peasy at all. It required a lot of suffering, effort, sacriface, lots of courage and persistence. It cost them the reputation of a weirdo, an outcast, or even a sociopath. They live somewhere aside, suspended in the void, scarred but content and free like birds.
* * * * * *
I’m in Albania going in the car with my family along the seaside. Actually we’re not moving. The street has narrowed leaving room for one vehicle only, so we’re waiting for the car going in the opposite direction. Suddenly I lay my eyes on the right and see a 60-year-old woman in a long light blue dress with dark and silver curly hair falling on her shoulders. She’s panting a bit as she’s just climbed up the stairs leading to the sidewalk. There’s a large basket full of deep purple figs resting on her hip. For a second we look deep into each others’ eyes and smile. In her eyes I notice the presence of the navy blue sea shimmering in the sunlight, the cloudless skies, the graveness of the huge mountains in the background. Somehow, magically, I realize that a minute ago she was standing there admiring the magnificence of the view behind her back. I can discern the reflection of it all in her eyes. I can sense her love for it all, her blissfulness, gratification.
In an instant it dawns on me that the lady doesn’t need to go through any pain or make any sacrifices. She doesn’t have to fight for a satisfying job, or look for a soulmate, or travel to distant places, struggle to break free from the chains of the community she happens to live in. She needn’t move an inch, except light-heartedly accept whatever life may bring her and relax. The stunning beauty of the nature surrounding her does it all for her. All she needs is an open heart ready to absorb it all year round in the garments of various seasons. She’s bound to live blissful and fulfilled irrespective of any other external factors. As simple as that.
Copyright by Marta Mozolewska
