There is a beautiful story called John the Fearless.

The title says it all: it turns out that John is not afraid of anything until one day the person he loves most falls ill and seems to be dying. Then, John the Fearless experiences the fear of losing something he loves very much.

I am a bit like John the Fearless.

Because one day I ventured into a very dark cave from which I emerged years later, blind and dirty, full of open wounds, but without fear.

I have also been to the bottom of the sea, which is thick and blue with no air. I have seen many fish die in front of me and above me. I have seen them decompose and watched as sharks came and ate them, passing right by me.

I have also been in the midst of gunfire, with bullets piercing everything around, and I walked slowly through it all…

One time, someone put a knife to my chest and took everything except my heart.

I have also experienced many turbulences, and the oxygen mask never fell for me, and my plane has crashed.

I have been next to an explosion and seen the shrapnel fly everywhere.

I have slept on vermin and nails, fought in a thousand battles, and perhaps lost them all, but I was never afraid.

I have also spent nights on the streets, been sick with 40-degree fevers for days, and once I had a nosebleed and lost my balance, but I wasn’t afraid.

A few days ago, I experienced the fear of losing the one I love most.

I felt the fear of all my lack of fears: I felt the bullets, the nails, the sharks, the vermin, all of it together.

Fear is sometimes directly proportional to love.

(But it’s over now)