Prison à ciel ouvert.

As I sit here, back in the garden I once was so familiar with, in the home that was once my haven, in the midst of the trees that were once 2 feet tall, I listen to the quite embrace of the breeze and I reminisce.

I remember the time when I “fell in love” with the first boy in my life. I was 12 at most. We used to ride the bike everyday through the summer. Then he had the brilliant idea of sending me a piece of paper with the question: “will you be my girlfriend” with three little boxes: yes, no, maybe.

Of course I said yes, and everything went downhill since that day. I was too scared to see him face to face and act all lovey dovey with him (even though by all standards that’s all we did before). And so I used to stand by my window behind the curtain and he would ride his bike past by and wave at me for hours…

Labels… how they ruin things.

My next boyfriend, when I grew up just a tiny bit older, I was more comfortable with for he was genuinely a nice guy who never pushed me past my capacities or my limits (or even the limits of our society which are very restraint, like very) and we used to talk on the phone all the time.

But then I had to tell my parents, who started planning and interfering, putting way too much pressure on a childhood crush and an adolescent relationship.

Again, labels crashed it all…

Then there was the big love in my high school life, my best friend. I suppose at the time we were confused between the limits between a close friendship between a guy and a girl on one hand, and the meaning of relationship on the other. And because we just had to label our relationship, I lost both my best friend and my boyfriend en un seul coup.

Need I say it again?

Then of course, you move out of your parents’ well structured cocoon into the real world that is abrupt, rude, condescending, ruthless and full of labels: the way you dress, your shoe brand, the people you hang out with, the major you’re studying, the music you listen to, the nail polish you use, the boy you date, the car you drive, the causes you support, the relationships you create.
By Ibai Acevedo

It’s as if society wants to make it so hard for you to figure yourself out and know who you are and what you expect of this world, in order for you to fall in the standards it has created for you. Almost as if it is not conceivable to create your own personality from scratch and stand out from the rest.

As I sit in this garden that holds no secrets from me, I look at the now darkened sky. They sparkle, little shiny stars in the most beautiful sky. The all shine just the same radiant and sublime. But none of them is identical to the other. So similar and yet completely different.

How can a society grow and learn? How can a country evolve and mature? How can an individual experience their full potential in a country that still fights over religion, homosexuality and women’s rights?

A society is a generated result of many people’s minds, opinions and doings all put together. It cannot be confined in a box and have its growth potential limited.

And if so, it can no longer be called a society:  un prison a ciel ouvert.