Emotional intelligence, that delicate subject, unsettles and provokes. Some approach it with curiosity, while others recoil, as if standing before a mirror reflecting something they would rather not face. Not everyone can bear to see themselves fully. And I understand: there are moments when consciousness weighs heavier than one can endure.
As for deep reading, that poor thing has almost become a museum relic. People seek what is ready-made, pre-digested, reduced to the least effort. Time is short, they say — but is it really just time? Or has thinking, that solitary and uncertain exercise, become an uncomfortable luxury?
And engagement? Ah, that remains a mystery. What is it that those who swipe aimlessly are looking for? Distraction? A brief forgetting of their own lives? Or perhaps a fleeting breath of meaning, without even realizing it?
Social networks feel like a house full of shadows. There are glances, but few traces. Silent presences, readers who leave no marks. And yet, they are there.
And I keep writing. Because I know that, even in silence, someone is reading. And sometimes, without my knowing, a word of mine finds shelter in an unknown heart. That, for me, is enough.
Comments
Post a Comment