{"version":"1.0","provider_name":"Inside out","provider_url":"https:\/\/peternoel.cafeblog.hu","author_name":"Peter Noel","author_url":"https:\/\/peternoel.cafeblog.hu\/author\/peternoelfreemail-hu\/","title":"Peter Noel: Insensitive - \u00c9rz\u00e9ketlen","html":"

(You can read the English version under the Hungarian text.)<\/p>\r\n

Min\u00e9l t\u00f6bbet besz\u00e9l\u00fcnk, ann\u00e1l ink\u00e1bb tiszt\u00e1n l\u00e1tom a m\u00faltat. Hib\u00e1imat v\u00e9rrel festem fel a falakra, de m\u00e1r nem f\u00e1j semmi. A karomon s a sz\u00edvemben l\u00e9v\u0151 m\u00e9ly sebeket n\u00e9zem, melyek arr\u00f3l mes\u00e9lnek, hogy csak azt kapjuk, mit mi magunk is adunk. Jobb embernek kellett volna lennem, s jobb d\u00f6nt\u00e9seket kellett volna hoznom. A fiatals\u00e1got s a j\u00f6v\u0151t figyelem, mely ott rejt\u0151zik a vir\u00e1gok szirmaiban, szemem l\u00e1tt\u00e1ra v\u00e1lnak azz\u00e1, mik legszebb \u00e1lmaikban voltak. <\/p>\r\n

Csak egyet nem \u00e9rtek... Mi\u00e9rt kell \u00fajra \u00e9s \u00fajra v\u00e9gigtaposnod a sz\u00edvemen csak az\u00e9rt, mert hib\u00e1ztam? Vajon mi\u00e9rt \u00e9rzed fontosnak a b\u00fcntet\u00e9st? Mi\u00e9rt \u00e9rzed \u00fagy, hogy a sebek, melyeket kaptam, nem elegek ahhoz, hogy megtanuljam, k\u00f6teless\u00e9gem jobb emberr\u00e9 v\u00e1lni? Mi\u00e9rt nem l\u00e1tsz m\u00e1r engem? Mikor lett\u00e9l vak a lelkemre?<\/p>\r\n

A k\u00e9k eget figyelem, mik\u00f6zben a v\u00e1ros forgatag\u00e1ban hazafel\u00e9 tartok. A sz\u00edvem lassan l\u00fcktet. Megfogadtam, hogy ma nem \u00e9rzek semmit. Nem hat meg a vil\u00e1g. \u00c9rz\u00e9ketlen leszek \u00e9s vak. \u00c9rz\u00e9ketlen \u00e9s vak. Azt\u00e1n megkeseredett id\u0151s f\u00e9rfi \u00fcl le el\u00e9m, ki beleharap a kuty\u00e1j\u00e1ba durva szavakkal. A sz\u00edvem dobogni kezd, a szemem l\u00e1tni. A kuty\u00e1ja engem n\u00e9z, magamat l\u00e1tom tekintet\u00e9ben. Nincs otthonunk, sem csal\u00e1dunk. Egy pillanatra meg\u00e1ll az id\u0151. R\u00e1d \u00e9s ap\u00e1ra gondolok, anya. Mi\u00e9rt nem tudok feln\u0151ni? Mi a baj a velem? Baj van velem? Mi\u00f3ta meghaltatok, nem tal\u00e1lom a helyemet ebben a vil\u00e1gnak nevezett z\u0171rzavarban. Nem tal\u00e1lom az otthonom.<\/p>\r\n

Lesz\u00e1llok a villamosr\u00f3l, \u00e9s gyalog megyek tov\u00e1bb. Jobbra t\u0151lem menek\u00fcltek \u00e1llnak. Tekintet\u00fck egyk\u00e9nt v\u00e1r valami csod\u00e1t, mit sosem kapnak meg. Apr\u00f3 kisl\u00e1ny koszos rongybab\u00e1t szorongat, s m\u00e1r nem besz\u00e9l arr\u00f3l, hogy \u00e9hes. A sz\u00edvem egyre er\u0151sebben l\u00fcktet. \u00c9rzem a v\u00e9rt az ereimben, mely \u00e9hesen falja izmaimat. Titeket figyellek, \u00e9s eml\u00e9keztetem magamat: \"Ma \u00e9rz\u00e9ketlen vagyok, nem \u00e9rdekeltek. Nem \u00e9rdekel senki \u00e9s semmi. Nem \u00e9rdekel a vil\u00e1g.\" Mert m\u00e1r nem t\u00f6r\u0151d\u00fcnk egym\u00e1ssal. M\u00e1r nem \u00f6lelj\u00fck meg egym\u00e1st. M\u00e1r nem akarjuk megmenteni a j\u00f3t. M\u00e1r nem akarunk k\u00fczdeni az \u00e1lmaink\u00e9rt. M\u00e1r nem akarunk igaz\u00e1n szeretni. M\u00e1r nem akarunk kock\u00e1ztatni. M\u00e1r nem akarunk igaz\u00e1n \u00e9lni...<\/p>\r\n

Feln\u0151tt f\u00e9rfi lettem, m\u00e9gis k\u00f6ly\u00f6knek \u00e9rzem magamat azok k\u00f6z\u00f6tt, kik csak hatalmat \u00e9s p\u00e9nzt akarnak. Feln\u0151tteknek h\u00edvj\u00e1k \u0151ket, s \u00e9n nem tal\u00e1lok otthont k\u00f6z\u00f6tt\u00fck. \u00c9n \u00f6lel\u00e9sre v\u00e1gyom, arra, hogy valaki egy pillanatra megtartson, hogy valakinek \u00e9n is t\u00e1masz legyek, \u00e9s kurv\u00e1ra elegem van a k\u00e9pmutat\u00f3 m\u00e9dia hazugs\u00e1gaib\u00f3l, a buta m\u0171sorokb\u00f3l, a dilett\u00e1ns, ostoba m\u0171sorvezet\u0151kb\u0151l \u00e9s \"celebekb\u0151l\", akik besz\u00e9lni \u00e9s \u00edrni sem tudnak norm\u00e1lisan, de folyton jelen vannak az \u00e9let\u00fcnkben, s m\u00e9rgezik a m\u00e9g befoly\u00e1solhat\u00f3 fiatalok gondolkod\u00e1s\u00e1t. Val\u00f3di \u00edzeket \u00e9s sz\u00edneket szeretn\u00e9k a m\u0171anyag vil\u00e1gban. \u00c9rt\u00e9ket, \u0151szintes\u00e9get, val\u00f3di emberi kapcsolatokat, hiteles embereket, akikre t\u00e9nyleg fel lehet n\u00e9zni.<\/p>\r\n

A sebekre pillantok, melyeket \u00e9letem sor\u00e1n szereztem, s a n\u0151re gondolok, kiben hittem, a von\u00e1saira, melyekben \u00e9letemet l\u00e1ttam, a l\u00e9ny\u00e9re, kiben otthont tal\u00e1ltam. A kezem id\u0151nk\u00e9nt megremeg, de er\u0151sebb vagyok, minthogy feladjam az \u00e9letemet s az \u00e1lmaimat.<\/p>\r\n

L\u00e1tod, anya... ide jutottam. \"\u00c9rz\u00e9ketlen\" lettem a vil\u00e1gra, pedig nem erre nevelt\u00e9l. Te azt mondtad, mindig szeressek. Mindig mindenkit. Arra nevelt\u00e9l, hogy nincs semmi, mi enn\u00e9l fontosabb. De \u00e9n \u00e9rz\u00e9ketlen leszek, anya, hallod? \u00c9rz\u00e9ketlen \u00e9s vak. B\u00e1r ilyen k\u00f6nny\u0171 volna... A v\u00e1rost n\u00e9zem a magasb\u00f3l, az embereket, a j\u00f6v\u0151met... A sz\u00edvem \u00fajra l\u00fcktetni kezd, a v\u00e9rem \u00fajra hajt \u00e1lmaim fel\u00e9, s nem tudom elfeledni, amire nevelt\u00e9l. A fiad maradtam, anya, s mindig az maradok. Nem tudok nem szeretni, v\u00e1gyni, akarni, \u00e1lmodni, harcolni\u2026 hisz nem erre nevelt\u00e9l. Nem igaz, anya? :)\u00a0\u2013\u00a0Peter Noel<\/a>,\u00a0Peter Noel Privat<\/a>, P\u00e9ter Noel<\/a>. Szerz\u0151i \u00e9s minden jog fenntartva. Megoszthat\u00f3 v\u00e1ltoztat\u00e1s n\u00e9lk\u00fcl, mindennem\u0171 egy\u00e9b felhaszn\u00e1l\u00e1sa enged\u00e9lyk\u00f6teles.<\/p>\r\n

\"ma\"<\/a><\/p>\r\n

The more we talk, the more clear I see the past. I paint my mistakes up to the wall with blood, but nothing hurts anymore. I am looking at the deep wounds on my hand and in my heart, those tell me that we only get what we give. I was supposed to be a better person, and I was supposed to make better decisions. I observe youth and the future, that is hiding in the petals of the flowers, in front of my eyes they turn into what they were in my most beautiful dreams. <\/p>\r\n

There is only one thing that I don't understand... Why do you have to tread down my heart again and again just because I made a mistake? Wondering why do you feel that punishment is so important? Why do you think that the woulds that I got are not enough for me to learn that I am obliged to become a better person? Why don't you see me? When did you become blind to my soul?<\/p>\r\n

I'm watching the blue sky while I'm heading home in the whirling town. My heart is pulsating slowly. I decided that I won't feel anything today. The world will have no effect on me. I'll be insensitive and blind. Insensitive and blind. Then a bitter old man sits down in front of me and he bit into his dog with rough words. My heart starts pounding again and my eyes start to see. The dog is looking at me and I see myself in his eyes. We got no home, we got no family. For a moment time stops. I'm thinking of you, and my Dad, Mom. Why can't I grow up? What is wrong with me? Is there something wrong with me? Since you passed away I am unable to find my place in this chaos called world. I can't find my home.<\/p>\r\n

I get off the tram and continue my way by foot. To my right there are refugees. Their eyes are waiting for some miracle, that they will never receive. A tiny little girl is holding onto a dirty rag-doll, and she stopped saying that she is hungry. My heart is pounding stronger and stronger. I can feel my blood in my vessels that bolts down my muscles. I am looking at you and I remind myself: \"Today I am insensitive, I don't care about you. I don't care about anybody and anything. I don't care about the world.\" Because we don't care about each other anymore. We don't give a hug to each other anymore. We don't want to save the good anymore. We don't want to fight for our dreams anymore. We don't want to really love anymore. We don't want to take risks. We don't want to really live anymore.... <\/p>\r\n

I became an grown-up man, but I still feel like I'm a kid in between those who only want power and money. They call them adults, and I can't find my home around them. I desire a hug, that someone will hold me just for a moment, that I am the support for someone, and I am freaking upset about the lies of the hypocrite media, the stupid programs, dilettante, idiot presenters and celebs who can't even talk and write normally, but they are always present in our lives, and toxicating the way of thinking of the still yielding youngsters. I would like to feel real flavors and see real colors in this plastic world. Values, honesty, real personal relationships, authentic people to whom we can really look up to.<\/p>\r\n

I'm looking at the wounds that I got during my life, and I am thinking of the woman, in whom I believed, thinking of her features, in which I saw my life, of her being where I did find home. My hands shaking sometimes, but I am stronger than just to give up on my life and dreams.<\/p>\r\n

See, Mom... this is where I got. I become \"insensitive\" to the world, even though you didn't raise me that way. You said I should be loving all the time. Always love everybody. You thought me that there is nothing more important than this. But I am becoming insensitive, Mom, can you hear me? Insensitive and blind. Oh if it was that simple... I am looking at the town from above, and the people and my future... My heart starts pounding again, my blood drifts me towards my dreams, and I'm unable to forget, what you've thought me. I remain your son, Mom, I'll always remain your son. I am unable not to love, to desire, to want, to dream, to fight... You haven't raise me that way. Is that right, Mom? :)\u00a0\u2013\u00a0Peter Noel<\/a>,\u00a0P\u00e9ter Noel<\/a>,\u00a0Peter Noel Privat<\/a>\u00a0Copyright and all rights reserved. Shareable without modification, any other use requires authorization.<\/p>","type":"rich"}