Magic Is Real | Tito's Personal Essay

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Tito Mazzucchi
English 3
Larissa Pahomov
Jan. 9th 2017

MAGIC IS REAL

Six gardens, each one bearing different life, some elevated, and others low. Three different types of trees; figs, lemons, olives, were the base of my food pyramid… and rosemary. A courtyard, a terrace, two balconies, a dining hall, two living rooms, five bedrooms, one fireplace, one firepit, a wine cellar, a tennis court, a garage, and a three-walled ballroom; all this was surrounded by a forest. Situated at a crossroads between the planted love and wild beauty of the wilderness would be my home. Sounds like a rich life and that it was, but not in a physical sense. The house did a good job at holding an appearance which would blend with the nature around it. The bright sun and arid currents of northern Africa created a mirage in which the walls and tiles of the home appeared old and not as wealthy as they may sound on paper. As a matter of fact, the true richness and my true home was never really the structure where I’d sleep, it was the forest surrounding it.

See a man can lust all day about how large a house may be or all the parties that could be hosted, but in the eyes of a young boy, those things hold little value. Although I mean no offense to my grandfather who did a great job at building the home, it was nowhere near what I loved about the place. I lived in a great home but I chose to grow up in the wild. Looking back I wouldn’t be able to count the amount of times that I ran away from my mother and grandparents into the forest that was beside the house and right above the sea. I speak of richness outside of a physical meaning because that is the prized gem of our earth. Money, it doesn’t give wisdom. I speak of richness outside a physical meaning because nature is the greatest giver. Choosing to grow up wild rather than rich never would have taught me the valuable lesson: “watch your step,” as well as me climbing a cliff over waves and sharp rocks did. Or that I should always prepare before going anywhere, because I realized at halfway that I had nothing to keep me alive besides my hands. A pool wouldn’t have been able to teach me to remain calm on the water like how swimming against a storm did. Dancing at midnight through gale and lightning was when I realized that my happiness did not depend on the weather. Every day at dawn I would run much of the forest floor. I taught myself how to build shelters, and how to create accurate maps I learned how to set up traps, and about cause and effect. Being wild allowed me to create a river and a well, from that I taught myself how to garden and how to build structures using clay. The trees took care of me and in return, I protected them.

Looking back, I can say that of the many lessons I’ve learned, there are two that stand out the most. The first lesson is that someone is not born a hero, or villain, wise, cruel or anything really. The changing world around each and every one of us is responsible for many lessons that we learn. The second lesson is that the world around us has no say in who we choose to become. There have always been countless instances when I felt a certain way about something that had happened, and then I looked back and realized my opinion to be completely different from the previous one I had. There are hundreds of wealthy people whose senses have been dulled by an overdosage of fortune, and hundreds of people that live in poverty and thank the stars every night, for their eyes and their hearts have been conditioned to find love and beauty in everything. In many ways, nature is a mirror, whose meaning can be derived opposite of what it reveals. Observing closely teaches you to see the bigger picture, and looking widely lets you notice even the tiniest of details. That is in many ways the secret to wisdom, and as a matter of fact, it was how I learned so much about the magic surrounding our changing world. This is a story about a time in my life when I came to realize all of these things...

...What I’m really trying to say is that magic is real. Although cartoons, movies and fairytales have fantasized and glorified it’s meaning, making us sceptic of its existence, the vibrations, occurrences, and lives around us really are the true form of magic. The colored texture of a garden flower, the soft beat of the ground, even things we humans created. A hum of a single car engine driving past your window under moonlight. The distant winter lights of a mountain village celebrating a holiday. The hearth of a campfire, vivid cheers of a ballgame, the embrace of a loved one, it’s all magic in its humblest of ways. I now learn this on a calm night as I see over the waves and stars.

I breathe, look to the side and see a bat fluttering along an invisible trail of sound. I shift in my seat, lean my head back against a stone wall and look up. Of all the times I ran out at night while my parents were asleep, never had it occurred to me to sit and observe the world as it was. Until now I had always been distracted by a planned mission or task I was determined to accomplish before sunrise. I always was told by people who called me a “wild-boy” that I possessed vitality, but now I realize that the word “wild” can be completely independent from its bearer; it could be a state of being, a title, a name. Wild because energy can derive from anything, not just sunlight. Tears of sadness could water the seeds of joy, outside chaos may inspire inner peace… Wild because significance can be understood without order. Wild because I love the truthful light of the moon.

I kinda understand now why I love the night more than the day, it was this hour in which my spirit grew. It was in these summer days, when I would rise up at noon and fall asleep at midnight, that my heart and mind received full nurture of the universe. I love the night more than the day because the light shone by the moon reveals to us a face too transparent to detect during the early bright. There it is, the whole cosmos before my eyes. Sitting in my balcony on a foldable wooden chair, older than me for sure, worked perfectly so that the surface almost bent down to accompany you. The very same chair that once hosted a wealthy and renowned engineer, a fighter, a fisher, and an inventor. The very same chair that once held the first laptop ever made. The very same chair that now holds the skinny legs of a young boy, whose skin would tense up with every breeze of the sea and later relax, as if it was breathing in perfect harmony with the waves and currents. It was these nights here, where the moon would kiss my eyes and reveal everything before the next sunrise.

I am sitting on a wooden chair which is warm, but my feet remain chilled by the coolness of the tiles that lay on the floor. Everything is smooth, the chair, the ground, even the bricks on the wall behind me, everything holds the tranquility of the sea except for the railing. That too is made of wood but this wood remains splintered and ragged. I’d study it from time to time and find the holes where salted wind would pick away at the wax and notice the jagged surface of a thousand needles all pointed in my direction. It is a barrier, that is for sure, and it seems like the moon, waves, and wind, are all slowly attempting to wither it away. I wish they would, because this railing is covering some of the stars out in the sky, like how cloth can seclude the skin of a beautiful woman. This beautiful woman must be Nut, the stars, the night, the moon and its light; and even if it seems that this woman wants to let said cloth be carried away by the breeze of the sea, perhaps it’s best that she doesn’t otherwise I might fall from my balcony.

Comments (1)

Pablo Salvatierra (Student 2018)
Pablo Salvatierra

I learned a lot about your childhood, and what sort of experiences you had growing up. I like how your writing style was rather poetic i nature, and how you went above the level of traditional writing to try and convey what were obviously very powerful emotions for you.