Selected Cronicas

THE WHITE DRESS

I woke up in the middle of the night longing to possess a white dress. Made of the finest chiffon. My longing was intense and clear. I believe it was my perpetual innocence. I know that some people find me dangerous. They have even told me so to my face. But I am also innocent. The desire to dress in white has always been the thing that saved me. I know, and perhaps only I and a few others know, that if there is something dangerous about me, there is also something pure. And that purity is only dangerous for those who have danger inside them. The purity I speak of is transparent: one even accepts the bad things. And it has the same effect as that white chiffon dress. Perhaps I will never possess it, yet it is as if I possessed it already, because one learns to live with what is so sadly lacking. I also long for a black dress which will make me look fairer and accentuate my purity. Is this really purity? The primitive is pure. Spontaneity is pure. Is evil pure? I am not sure. What I do know for certain is that sometimes the root of evil is of an impossible purity.

I woke up in the middle of the night with such intense longing for a white chiffon dress, that I got up and looked in my wardrobe. I found one white dress in thick material with a round neckline. Is thickness purity? One thing I do know: love, however violent, is pure.

And that is how I have come to discover that I am not pure.