Everyone has read Pollyanna growing up, and learned about the ultimate optimist, who in my view, is no longer relevent in our time, where reality has become one harsh fact of life that systematically attacks our optimism, forcing us to become cynical shadows of our individual selves. In a world where our individuality is undemined constantly by choices we are forced to make on an almost daily basis, optimism has taken a back seat to give way to survival. It is a harsh world that we live in today, and I have learned through the years that although it is always desirable to stay optimistic when things get rough, the actually smart thing to do is be prepared for the worst; which might often prove to be the only way to survive with a semblence of sanity. Some would consider this view to be a pessimistic one, but I see it as merely realistic. It is not a view I was born with but rather one that I was forced to adapt as a direct result of the many times I was devastatingly disappointed in people. I do believe that as a whole, humanity will prevail and I am optimistic that they will arrive at a point where the issues we face today, such as prejudice, bigotry, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia, religous extremism, etc., will be nothing more than history. However, I also believe that it is not likely to happen in my lifetime. I choose to keep a healthy dose of cynicism as I have learned that optimism for the sake of optimism is detrimental to one's mental health. The time I was naive enough to buy into Pollyanna's unfailing belief that everything will be all right has passed, because sometimes, it just is not.

When is the time an individual is the most honest with oneself? I believe the answer to this question is most profoundly depicted by Rodin's "The Thinker". It is a piece of art displaying a man in the nude, sitting with his right elbow resting on his left leg, his right fist supporting his head. A lot of critics relate this work to philosophy, and they certainly have a point since philosophy, in its essence, is rooted in human thought and beliefs. However, whenever I see "The Thinker", I get the feeling that it is more than that, and much more personal. To me, "The Thinker" represents the interaction of the individual with its "self". Everybody has different faces they present to the outside world, depending on the role they need to play in different parts of their lives. As a result, they are rarely, if ever, their actual selves. I believe that Rodin's work depicts what he considers is the "naked self"; or at least, that is what I call it. When there are no outside elements to empose masks onto our faces, no obligations to present a certain front, and when we are faced with the overwhelming desire to be our true selves. I think this is one of the most rigorous and demanding tasks an individual may undertake, and I believe that the only way to achieve this goal is to be able to be naked with our thoughts and feelings as only then, can we actually hear our inner voice and listen to its call, and see ourselves the most clearly. I do not think it is a coincidence that "The Thinker" is part of a collection called "The Gates of Hell"; where else would we need to be truely naked, literally and figuratively?

For me, the best stories are the ones where the characters come alive and breathe. Chronicles of Alsea by Fletcher DeLancey, which constitute one of my all-time favorites for several reasons, is an excellent example. Despite having started as Star Trek fan-fiction, it becomes so much more. The detail-oriented approach of the author and the amount of nuance gives the world of Alsea a distinct quality; a world in its own right, with a cultural structure transcending the ordinary. Another thing I would like to mention is the diversity and inclusivity of Alsea. The series contains characters that are all over the spectrum, and they play prominent roles in the story, not just serve decorative purposes, which is, unfortunately, a common practice in today’s mainstream franchises. Depicted as a humanoid species at first glance, Alseans’ most prominent distinction stems from the fact that they are not gender-locked; that is, they can alter their gender for reproductive purposes. This means that men, as well as women, can choose to bear and nurse a child, making the specific gender roles so defining in our culture as human beings obsolete. The way Alseans view sexuality and relationships is so refreshing and awe-inspiring that, if it were possible, I would become an Alsean in a heartbeat. Books have always been my best friends, introducing me to other worlds where anything and everything is possible; thus, shaping the way I see my self and world around me, providing me with the tools to become a thinker who is not afraid to ask questions no matter how difficult they are or how dangerous. Chronicles of Alsea emphasize so many things I hold dear such as loyalty, friendship, knowledge, bravery and love, and it is the story of a world I will never get tired of re-visiting.

When I was little, it was so easy to find joy; pedalling hard on my bike with the wind on my face, defeating the boys’ team in a game of hoops, diving into the sea after a scorching day. As I grew older, I added new pieces to my repertoire; dancing through the night at a bar, singing along at the top of my lungs at my favorite band’s concert. As the years went by and I got older, so did life get harder. Balancing work and life became even more difficult when my mom got sick and I had to take care of her, and watch helplessly as she slowly wasted away. During that darkest time of my life, I almost forgot what joy actually felt like. It seemed to be out of reach when previously it felt so close. The best I could hope for was a moment of peace and quiet, just enough to let me breathe, and then I would once again be swamped by responsibilities. Since my mom passed away two years ago, I have been trying to get back to my self, finally having the opportunity to listen to my inner voice and re-learn to be content. Yet again, I have added new things to my list; taking a walk with my dog, going to the seaside to breathe in the salty air, watching the sun set into the sea and feeling those last rays of sun on my face. I have not yet found the joy I once had and maybe I never will. Maybe joy changes just as we do throughout the years. I just know that I have hope, and as long as that remains true, I will find my way back to my self, however much it may have changed.

I was about 25 years old, had just started my job a couple of years ago, and still living with my parents. One morning, I woke up to my mother screaming my name, calling for help. I rushed to her bedroom, got on my knees, and grabbed her hand, asking her what was wrong. She was squeezing my hand so hard and kept saying she was going to die, or she would end up like her mother, who had suffered a stroke and was bedridden for 9 months before a second stroke took her life; that was my mom’s greatest fear. My mother was one of the strongest people I know, and I had never seen her so afraid; I could actually feel her fear. I kept telling her that it was all right, that everything would be OK, trying to calm her down. I think it lasted only a couple of minutes but it felt like ages. When she finally calmed down enough for us to take her to the hospital just a block away, it turned out to be nothing more than Vertigo. That was when I realized that my mom was going to die. Not that day, definitely, but someday. It was 15 years before she actually did, and though of course, I knew about it before, that was the day I really grasped the meaning of death and accepted its inevitability; I realized, as I held her hand that day, how helpless I was in the face of my mother's suffering and impending death. As a result, when my mother actually got sick five years later, diagnosed with breast cancer, and got sicker and weaker in time due to Post-polio Syndrome triggered by the general anesthesia she underwent for her cancer surgery, I was able to take it in stride and stay strong when my mother needed me the most, and while everyone else expected me to stumble. The following years until my mom passed away in 2019, was the most challenging time of my life, but I was able to endure thanks to my experience all those years ago. Living through this experience, I have learned and understood that everything ends but until it does, you are still alive and there is still hope, which is more than enough to let you survive. It is actually what life is all about; you are born and then you die, life is whatever you make of what is between, and hope is the ingredient that gets you through and keeps you alive. For quite some time now, whenever there is a conversation about life and death, I simply voice one remark that sums it all up for me: I breathe, as long as I hope.