These days, our hands are playing an important role in the game of life. These days, our hands are feeling vulnerable and fragile, just like us! Some hands feel sad for other hands that died, whose warmth has become an eternal memory. Our hands have a lot of stories to tell, such as the one about how they have learnt to behave differently.
My own eyes and hands have always been a bridge of communication, a sign of love and tenderness. Now, however, it’s like a part of this bridge is about to collapse. These days I use my hands more and more: to write, turn the pages of books at night, light candles and practice yoga exercises.
However, I am still afraid of my own hands! I cover them with gloves and use antiseptic and, as a result, they have become rougher. It relieves me, though, that part of their tenderness is used in text messages to those who are close to me, or to make the orange cake that I have been baking recently. My hands have written thousands of stories about events in my own life and in others’ lives as well. They have written about romance and joy, but also about sorrows. My hands have made tea many times and have opened a lot of doors. When I was young and couldn’t walk, I moved around the world using my hands. Whenever I was happy, my hands clapped and danced, during my nights of sadness they wiped away my tears, and when I was afraid, they would shake. With my hands, I braided my hair. These hands should not be that scared!
My hands didn’t abandon me during the weird days we lived through. Sometimes they hugged me, just so that I wouldn’t forget what it is like to be hugged. Sometimes they stroked my hair, so that I wouldn’t forget what a caress is… so that I wouldn’t forget that better days are coming. Days when we will be able, once more, to hold the hands of peole close to us, people who are waiting for us.
You can write the story of your hands during the quarantine days and send it to us in: [email protected]