The Silence of Innocent Feelings

Lately, I have distanced myself from those who might be affected by my presence—at least when it comes to deeper emotions. People often struggle to let me into their lives, a reaction that stems from my intense, sensitive, and highly perceptive nature. I am someone who tries to help others—whether I know them well or not, whether they are friends or strangers—and I am never afraid to stand by my own convictions. This often intimidates people, as genuine transparency has become an endangered trait these days.

Ever since I was a teenager, this way of being has brought me many disappointments and much pain, but it has also been a source of profound learning and personal growth. People tended to see me more as a friend or an advisor than as a human being with his own emotions and capacity to love. At times, I would retreat to the living room to listen to music—an act that allowed my emotions and deepest feelings to break free. My relationship with music has always been one of total immersion; I would lose myself in the melody and the lyrics, letting whatever they stirred within me flow forth. Over time, this sensitivity and perceptiveness allowed me to understand people better than they understood themselves—and, in ways I cannot fully explain, to foresee how their lives might unfold if they continued on their current paths. I still possess this ability today, though it has grown a bit rusty due to the silence I’ve imposed upon myself over the years—a form of self-preservation.

This self-imposed silence was built gradually, shaped by life’s setbacks and the storms that consumed me whenever I foresaw the consequences that a certain path would bring to those I cared for or loved. This was the case throughout my marriage—in relation to my wife, my loved ones, and my dear daughter. I could sense a situation and, in my mind, foresee what might unfold—not as a prophecy where I knew exactly how things would happen, but as an intuitive grasp of where a certain path might lead and what its consequences could be. Naturally, this only occurs with those who become very close to me and allow me to see them in their entirety.

There are people I love dearly, yet I cannot "sense" them in this way, as they are guarded and find it difficult to express their feelings. This trait aligns with my deep-seated conviction to always help others—a commitment I hold dear, as it makes me feel more human and useful, a perspective rooted in my faith and life experiences. My drive to keep living—even after losing everyone I once loved most—often startles me; it makes me wonder where this strength comes from and why I am always so inclined to be there for others. I have tried to be different, but I couldn't—it is simply a part of who I am.

This silence is also linked to my current journey: seeking a new path that involves both caring for myself and finding a new love—a love defined by mutual understanding, sharing, building together, and a genuine desire for companionship. Herein lies the conflict between this new path and the fluid, superficial reality that prevails today.

From this conflict arises the title of this piece: "The Silence of the Innocent Feelings." It is in my nature to closely observe the world and the environment around me, as well as how people interact with them. Many find it hard to believe that, within that same space, there is someone who is watching—someone who wants to feel what you feel, who seeks to understand who you are, and who hopes to discover whether a deep connection might exist—one capable of building love. Naturally, this unfolds over time, through a mutual desire to get to know one another—a process that, at least initially, begins with what is visible on the surface. We are not always "beautiful" to everyone; after all, each person holds their own unique vision of what beauty truly is. Furthermore, the glorification of excess and the complete abandonment of one’s true self—including all one’s fears and anxieties—often facilitated by subterfuges that bypass social filters, makes this kind of search exceptionally difficult.

In the past, people sought others with principles—individuals who wanted to build bridges and lasting relationships, driven by a desire to reveal themselves, get to know one another, and share life experiences. From this foundation, physical and sexual needs would naturally emerge, imbued with greater depth. Today, this has become increasingly rare, leaving my own search—a quest for innocence and love in the truest sense of the word—to unfold in near-total silence. It is worth noting that those who have granted me the privilege of believing in who I am, and who deem me worthy of their trust, eventually become part of my family. This is not because I am better than anyone else, but because—or so I believe—I consistently strive to be the best person I am capable of being for them.

This comes at a tremendous cost, as many people mistake it for weakness or naivety, leading them to act in ways that cause hurt—which, in turn, only deepens that silence. On the other hand, when people truly value what I reveal—and perhaps even see a reflection of themselves in it—the possibilities for growth and mutual support become infinite.

In this sense, the "silence of the innocent" (regarding one’s feelings) proves to be an immense challenge. The need for human connection is ever-present, yet the opportunity for it is hindered by a lack of faith and courage—a state of affairs that, I must reiterate, is to some extent understandable and justifiable, depending on the path each individual has walked. But where, then, does the hope lie—the hope that we might become better at navigating both love and pain? How can one find someone who could mean everything, in a reality that denies people the chance to reveal who they truly are, rather than merely being someone who is pleasing to the eye at first glance? Where is the desire to engage with actual human beings, rather than with a portable machine? Where is the joy of a profound, inner connection—a meeting of hearts—that allows feelings to be experienced in a deep and lasting way? 

If we do not take steps into the unknown and risk ourselves, how can we ever attain happiness and the fulfillment of our true selves? We can only find happiness alongside someone who embraces us for the entirety of who we are—flaws and virtues alike—in a constant, shared pursuit of balance between the "I" and the "we."