A modern-day ode to pure foolishness.
There's a clown inside each one of us. A stupidly, irritatingly, delightfully foolish one.
A poorly dressed clown in loosened polka-dotted pants, threadbare suspenders, and a shabby pair of giant shoes.
That one who wears a colorful wig — dingy by time and always about to fall at every head tilt or note out of tune.
That old clown who laughs out loud at their own silly jokes, regardless of whether anyone else does.
They never care: laughing at themselves is the only thing that counts in their number.
They also know that no curious eyes would glance at them, now and then, weren't it for their unique kind of foolish seduction.
Why do they act as if life is easy, or as if everything could be turned into another comic sketch on their show?
At best, the crowd and they have an open, outspoken blast.
At worst, they surrender to the icing pie thrown at their face, for eternal self-mocking sake.
That old, odd clown makes you chuckle at first, silence at second, and want to run away at third.
Not because they're scary, though: they're so reckless and careless, too out of the blue and so into the pink, that it seems that you can barely stand them.
But think twice. Is it something about them or something about you that feels annoying? What does that clown remind you of? What do they show or bring to your consciousness that you wish they didn't?
Is that because they can bare you in front of everyone without even taking a single piece of clothing off?
Upon that blurred makeup, or in the spheric reflection of that plastic red nose, do you find any trace of your face?
What does that clown remind you of?
What is it about them that makes you uncomfortable? Is that because they’re not like you?
Or because, underneath that all, you know that they’re quite like you?
And you know what? That foolish clown laughs at you, too. All the damn time. They find you weird as much as you roll your eyes at them.
When you sign papers, fake smiles, tell another white lie, nod to your boss, sip to forget, and swallow to remember, they're right there, laughing in the corner of the room.
When you join the saddest happy hours and go on the weirdest blind or double dates pretending you're having a great time, they're under the counter. Giggling, shaking their heads, murmuring, 'What a waste of time.'
They watch your face blush nearly to the color of their nose. They know how much you're holding it in, faking it out.
You make fun of them, but they find you foolish, too.
And their shows, guess what — They are all about you.
Now that we're here...
...in this raw conversation, stripped-down curtains and under low lights. With many more things to say and just a few left to hide...
Here's my frank, dear advice: embrace that inner clown.
Hug them, and kiss them on the cheek instead of making them cry. They want nothing else in the world more than making you smile.
Their bright, red nose was made to be squeezed. As well as their hearts. Don't assume what they bring is another trick of life. Go ahead, give chance a try.
You know deep down how it goes: no clowns, no fools; no fools, no adult life.
With all their foolishness, carelessness, and childishness, clowns remain essential. They're made of you, so they're part of you. You may give your attention to whatever you deem important in your world. But don't neglect your inner clown.
Let them laugh out loud, do their show, and at last, throw you an icing pie to the face — right before you take a bow and give them a whole another round of applause.
Love,
Ana Clara.
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