The day before I left for my trip, I watered my cactus. Having been neglected for so long, it was leaning heavily, appearing as if it might collapse at any moment. Forget watering a plant; lately, I had been in a mental state where I could barely manage my own basic self-care. It felt as though I were standing in the scorching heat of a desert, enduring a profound thirst, much like a cactus.
Cacti are resilient to drought, yet even their strength has its limits. The human body lacks such endurance against physical thirst. But to what extent, I wonder, can the human spirit endure its own form of dehydration? Perhaps the common thread between a person feeling a thirst in their soul and a cactus starving for water lies in isolation. Just as a cactus craves water, do humans not require some form of connection with others? For the human spirit, “thirst” is likely the absence of meaningful interaction.
Through engagement with others, people can confirm the whereabouts of their own soul. This is achieved by receiving the reflections of another’s heart within one’s own. For instance, when you cook for someone and receive their feedback, or when you perform an instrument for an audience and hear their applause. Even more mundanely, it happens through conversation. Someone who listens to your story; someone who responds. When a conversation becomes a true dialogue of hearts, both parties find their spirits replenished. You speak, someone listens, and then you receive a response. Then, you become the listener. By exchanging these emotional responses, we affirm the other’s heart while simultaneously discovering or confirming the place where our own soul resides.
I was profoundly poor at such conversations. This may be because my sense of language was unique—vastly different from others. While I won’t delve into the details here, in that sense, those who could truly converse with my heart were rare. I wish to express my deepest gratitude here to those who have provided me with an oasis until now.
