Child made of tattoos (Translated version)

 

The bus stopped at the last traffic light before the terminal. I stared out the window at the traffic light and the street lights that were joining the lone moon and the few scattered stars.

Next to me was a fairly steep road and spontaneously my gaze was captured by four wheels that were slowly and painfully rolling along its base. The wheels seemed to gasp, staggering in their struggle with friction, as the load they carried was crowded with tin and metal contraptions hanging laboriously from the tortured iron cart. The "pilot" of the facetious vehicle, was a hunched-over grandmother, who seemed to gasp with every step toward the top of the hill. But her wrinkled hands and fragile knees did not betray her. They struggled persistently to push the heavy load one step further to finally reach its destination.

I was looking at little Sisyphus with admiration and compassion. I didn't have time to think of anything more and a hand nudged her and nodded politely to the old lady. I could barely read the expressive lips and wide smile that said "Leave it to me, it's no trouble."

And he patiently dragged it all the way up. To the top. He looked at her with the same loving gaze and with a cheerful nod, the young porter continued on his way. He left the grandmother behind him thanking him constantly, waving goodbye.

Ηe didn't go very far. He reached under a sidewalk lamp and then the yellow blurry light subtly revealed the features of the "good giant". Tall stature, thick beard, huge backs, and lined arms were "adorned" with silver chains and bracelets. The chest was covered with a shirt of a well-known metal band. But what caught your attention were the tattoos that intricately wove all over his body. Skulls and Indians, unfamiliar faces and various rhymes in different languages monochromatically colored every inch of his skin. Perhaps to most people, it was something unsightly or even repulsive. His whole presence is almost disturbing.

And yet this "smudged rock" hid something so gentle inside. Something so delicate.

I wonder how much this external image did him injustice. How much it would degrade him in our relentless stares, in our biased criticism. In the end, it is all too easy to jump to conclusions about the passers-by around you. Easy as pie to categorize every stranger. Funny to describe their inner world by looking at an external tattoo that beckons provocatively.

A nose piercing, a cigarette on the lips, and an eyebrow piercing are not the tickets to get on the "bad boy" blacklist. Νo ink can drown the little child in you and no razor will judge whether your compassionate heart will be stabbed. They are choices, frivolous or not, that certainly defines our "leather clothing," but they cannot disqualify us from behaving with love and offering others ourselves.

By judging, I confirm that I am undeniably worse than him, more empty than him. Even more, smudged at heart. I'm just lovingly nurturing a little more of my relentless narcissism, my unyielding avarice. I take strength from the superficial upgrading I do myself. He at least whom I depreciate, the most humble, is pomegranate with a hard and unmalleable skin, yet with abundant, potential, inner fruit.

It is a shame to ignore such a treasure that is simply well secured in the pearl shell. Perhaps if we had grown up under the same conditions he was raised in, and with the same experiences, we would have been "worse".

We'd better keep silent for a while. The judges have had enough. Let's show a little understanding to this passerby who doesn't identify with our Εgo. Let's drop the crown, from the head that self-crowned us infallible Pope, however much we may not admit it. Let's offer a little extra love, cause perhaps the one we frown upon has been deprived of it. Perhaps his lack of acceptance and insufficient dose of smiles led him to such behavior.

Let us melt others with our Love to bring out the pure gold that lies within them. 

Judging is easy. Let's do the hard thing for once...

(This was not a touching tale,

but a little true story)