tsvetoslav shalev

Tears are the noble language of the eye.

– Robert Herrick

I remember a time when I felt proud of the fact that I wouldn’t shed a single tear in moments of sadness. I thought it the mark of a strong character, something I always wanted for myself, but never quite knew how to achieve. My late grandmother was the complete opposite. She’d get tears welling up in her wrinkled eyes just by looking at old black and white photos, never mind the news of an untimely end of a relative or acquaintance. When much younger, I thought such behavior was quite typical for a woman, being the “weaker” sex. I was adamant that only a great tragedy is deserved for displaying emotion, especially in front of strangers. I admit – I was a fool!

Throughout my life thus far, I’ve been a witness to this spontaneous release of water, salts, antibodies, and lysozymes (see Wikipedia, on tears) on many an occasion, and have even spilt some myself. At first, I would try to resist the process. In fact, I still do so these days, but mostly out of propriety, rather than any fear of shaming myself in front of others. We cry because of many different reasons, be they internal to our organism and psyche, or external, and for the most part, I am familiar with the causes and have personally experienced their effects.

What remains a mystery to me, however, are the tears we shed in joy. And by this, I don’t mean to say that I’ve never laughed hard in my life – on the contrary, I quite welcome cheeks’ splitting, rib cage bursting humour! But what I’m talking about are those rare moments, rarer than the formation of diamonds in the Universe when emotional happiness manifests itself through tears. Wet, warm and so full of intensity, I observe these droplets as they cascade down two cheeks, colours of pale white and ripe pear’s blush. And it confuses me so, for in a brief moment of platonic pleasure, I witness my own limited understanding of the human condition, reflected in her tears. Then she almost imperceptibly says: It’s quite alright, those are tears of joy.

I’m lost, again, in a haze of long Auburn hair and male uncertainty, at a moment in life, now a bit closer to an end of sorts. On a grander scale, the time has only just begun.