Once I knew a young girl. For a short little while. The girl could not stand pain. At all. Shed look at all the nicely dressed merchants, lawyers and business men slowly luring everyone into false believing that wealth equals happiness. She would see right through everything with her big green eyes. This girl felt so underestimated always, as to bravely step on the shiniest red shoe the richest lady in town wore. As a kid. So theyd say she is… Different. Which at the time give. Meant…. Crazy.
And so the town got wealthier, more ships would set that shore, yet all of the kids she grew up with would turn grayer and angrier by days. Bloodthirsty eyes and no respect towards other human beings was left by the time they all turned sixteen. Only thing that kept this little rebellious girl silently drawing near the river, where no one could see. Was love. See she understood crystal clearly. That all those beautiful garmets and newly built houses mustve come out of someones pain and hard work. They were accepted. By the Other folk. Whilst she was stepping on laquer shoes of every color. Still.
And so one day, I was walking past a river bank. And saw a girl. She wore pants. And a bright raspberry colored blouse. Barefooted. Hair all messed up. She had a notebook. So I asked her- what do you do for a living? -I read. Write. Accounting books. Draw. Swipe the floors in a local tavern at times. Help the beermaker. Many things, really.
I asked her to show me a few pages at that mysterious notebook for me. And so she did. -Where do you think your bag of gold is, young lady? See, all of your classmates claimed theirs a long time ago. And they still are. Claiming. See from my perspective, you wasted yours coin by coin giving secrets of life and all kinds of valuable knowledge, to all those tavern cooks and bartenders and gardeners or what not. Rich folk do not like it. No folk like it kid. Now the rich folk might use kindness for their own good. And even help you a little bit. But all those dirty faced merciless young halfway-through bastards. Are. Competition. See, competition causes all this pain. Do you know, little naïve soul, who is the most violent competitor of all? It is always the least talented, the least loved, the least… needed. Also the dirtiest and cruelest, scheming and plotting the way anywhere and anyhow, needed. Therefore- the strongest.
I bought a few pictures of hers and started sending letters to my newly acquired student. She painted many more. Still wore her disgraceful pants. I could never understand it.
Greta Oldenburg
2021