What is real?

I would love to know the answer to it, but at this point I can't. Nothing seems to be real anymore. Food is not "real" food. Music is not "real" music. Posts are not "real" anymore.

In my field of work, some people even think that my job is not a "real" one. My instrument is not decent enough to be called a "real" instrument. The programs I use are not the "real" thing, because the "real" musicians use something else. Heck, even music itself gets the label "real" nowadays, when the algorithm feeds us with a bunch of AI-fabricated stuff. And if you think about it, some nostalgic ones will even say that the music of the past was the "real" one.

I thought that, at this point in my life, I could distinguish the "real" things. I thought that growing up meant exactly that. Instead, we grow up invalidating and being invalidated, just so we can't distinguish the "real" anymore. I mean, even being "for real" in front of others can be hurtful at times. People would rather see an appearance of who you are, and not yourself.

Cora Coralina, a wonderful Brazilian writer, once wrote: "...I don't know if life is short or too long for us. But I know that nothing in our lifes make sense if we don't touch people's hearts. (...) That is what makes life not too short and not too long, but intense, truthful and pure... while it lasts."

I would love to live through that motto. That seems more "real" to me. And Coralina closes: "Happy is the one that transfers what he knows... and learns what he teaches."