YouTube: Bosquito, „Prințesa Inorog”

English translation of „Prințesa Inorog”

Someone recently referred this song to me. Since it is in Romanian, I first listened to it without fully understanding what was being sung. There was something about it that stayed with me, so I wanted to know what the words were actually saying. The song is called „Prințesa Inorog”, which means „The Unicorn Princess”, by Bosquito. At first, it seems like a strange fairy tale about a beautiful princess who is searching for a unicorn. But when I understood the story, I realized that there was something much deeper hidden inside it.

The princess is extraordinarily beautiful. People come to her, admire her and ask for her hand, but she refuses them because she is waiting for something different. She is searching for the unicorn. The unicorn becomes the image of the perfect beloved, someone rare, extraordinary and almost impossible to find. She believes that somewhere there is someone who will finally correspond to the deepest desire of her heart. So she keeps searching. She keeps waiting. She keeps looking beyond what is already before her.

And then time passes. Her beauty begins to fade. The years slowly take away what once made everyone admire her. The song eventually gives us the painful image of winter appearing in her hair. She has spent her life searching for the perfect one, and she is still searching. That image has stayed with me because I can see myself in it.

I may not be searching for a unicorn, but how often have I searched for something that I imagined would finally make me whole? How often have I thought that perhaps the next place, the next person, the next experience, the next achievement, or the next change in my life would finally bring the peace I am looking for? How often have I looked somewhere else because I believed that what I needed must be somewhere other than where I am now?

Perhaps this is one of the deepest wounds of the human heart. I want something that nothing created can completely give me.

I want to be loved completely. I want to be understood without having to explain everything. I want someone who knows the whole truth about me and does not walk away. I want a love that does not become weaker when I become weak. I want someone who remains when I have nothing impressive left to offer.

And when I am honest with myself, I realize that I am asking for something infinite from things that are finite. I am asking a human heart to give me what only the Heart of Christ can give.

This is where the song becomes, for me, a deeply Christian reflection.
The princess is not wrong because she wants something perfect. Perhaps she is wrong only because she does not know where to look. Her heart is longing for a love that is faithful, complete and eternal. But she searches for it among creatures.

And I do the same.

I can look for Jesus without realizing that I am looking for Him in everything except Jesus. I can look for His peace in circumstances. I can look for His love in people’s approval. I can look for my worth in being needed. I can look for belonging in a particular place. I can look for happiness in the future. I can look for security in knowing what will happen next.

And slowly, without even realizing it, I can make created things carry a burden they were never meant to carry. Only Jesus can carry that burden. Because Jesus knows me. Not the version of me that I show people. Not the version of me that I want people to see. He knows everything. He knows the parts of me that I am proud of, and He knows the parts I would rather hide. He knows my weaknesses, my fears, my sins, my wounds, my contradictions and the desires I sometimes do not even understand myself.

And knowing all of that, He still loves me. That is what overwhelms me. Jesus does not love an imaginary version of me. He does not love the person I might become someday if I become holier, stronger, wiser or better. He loves me now, in the middle of everything that is unfinished in me. He knows. And He remains.

There is something in the princess’s story that also frightens me: she keeps searching while time passes. One day becomes another. One year becomes another. Her beauty changes. Her life moves forward. And she is still waiting for the thing she believes will finally make her complete. I cannot read that without thinking about my own life. How much of my life have I already spent waiting for something to change before I allow myself to surrender completely to Jesus? How many times have I told myself that I will pray more seriously when life becomes easier, that I will be more faithful when I understand what God is doing, or that I will finally be happy when I reach the place where I think I am supposed to be?

But life does not wait. The years do not wait. And I do not want to reach the end of my life and discover that I spent it constantly waiting for a life that never came, while Jesus was quietly present in the life He had actually given me. That thought hurts me. Because perhaps holiness is not waiting for the perfect life. Perhaps holiness is learning to love Jesus in the life I have been given. Here. Now.
In this community. In this mission. In this uncertainty. In the people around me. In the ordinary things that sometimes seem insignificant. In the moments when I am tired, when I feel alone, and when I do not understand why God has allowed certain things to happen. Jesus is there. And perhaps I miss Him because I am looking for something extraordinary. The princess is looking for a unicorn. I can be guilty of looking for my own unicorn. I can imagine that somewhere there is a perfect place where everything will finally make sense, a perfect community where I will never feel lonely, a perfect mission where I will never struggle, or a perfect future where I will finally feel completely at peace.

But Jesus never promised me a perfect life. He promised me Himself. And perhaps that is much more difficult, and much more beautiful. Because if I truly believe that Jesus is enough, then I can begin to receive even an imperfect life as a place where He can meet me.

I can stop asking, „When will everything become what I want?” and begin asking, „Jesus, where are You asking me to love You here?” That question changes everything. If I am lonely, where is Jesus asking me to find Him? If I am uncertain, where is Jesus asking me to trust Him? If I am disappointed, where is Jesus asking me to remain faithful? If I am hurt, where is Jesus asking me to forgive? If I do not understand, where is Jesus asking me to say, „I trust You anyway”?

Perhaps this is what it means to fall in love with Christ. It is not simply to feel something beautiful about Him. It is to slowly reach the point where I can say, „Jesus, even if You do not give me what I am asking for, I still want You.” That is a very different kind of love. And then I look at the Cross. Everything becomes silent there.

If I ever doubt whether Jesus loves me, I only have to look at Calvary. He did not love me from a distance. He entered into my suffering. He accepted rejection, betrayal and humiliation. He allowed Himself to be wounded. He allowed Himself to be crucified. And He stretched out His arms. When I look at those arms, I cannot tell myself that God does not care. Those arms are the answer.

He is the One I have been looking for.
Not because He gives me everything I want, but because He gives me Himself. And perhaps this is what touches me most deeply about the story of the princess. She spends her life searching for someone who does not seem to exist. But the Christian mystery is completely different.

I do not have to invent my perfect Beloved. He has already come. He has already searched for me. Before I ever thought about finding Jesus, He was already looking for me. Before I knew how to pray, He already knew my name. Before I understood the Cross, He had already carried it for me. Before I knew how much I needed Him, He had already given everything for me. Sometimes I think I am searching for God.

Then I remember the Gospel. It is God who has been searching for me. The lost sheep did not find the shepherd first. The shepherd went looking for the sheep. The prodigal son did not earn his way back into the father’s love. The father was waiting for him. Mary Magdalene did not find Jesus because she had everything figured out. She found Him because He called her by her name. And perhaps that is what I need to remember when I feel lost. Jesus knows my name.
He knows where I am.
He knows what I am carrying.
He knows what I do not know how to say. He knows the parts of my heart that are still searching. And He is not frightened by any of it.

The song makes me think about beauty too. The princess is beautiful, but her beauty fades. The world places so much value on what can be seen, but everything visible eventually passes.

One day my face will be different.
One day my strength will be different.
One day the things I am proud of today will mean very little. One day the places I have lived, the things I have achieved and the things people remember about me will all become part of the past. But Jesus will still be Jesus.

And perhaps that is what I need to build my life upon.
Not what fades.
Not what people think of me.
Not what I can accomplish.
Not where I am sent.
Not whether I feel successful.
Not whether everything goes according to my plans. Jesus. Only Jesus.

I think there is a very quiet danger in always searching for something better. I can become so concerned with what is coming that I fail to receive what God is giving me now. I can spend so much time imagining another life that I fail to live the life in front of me. I can become so occupied with finding the place where I belong that I forget that my deepest belonging is already in Christ.

Perhaps I do not need another place to belong.
Perhaps I need to belong more deeply to Jesus.
Perhaps I do not need another person to complete me.
Perhaps I need to allow Jesus to become the centre around which every other love in my life is ordered.
Perhaps I do not need to find my unicorn.
Perhaps I need to stop running and let myself be found by Christ.
And that thought brings me to something very personal.

I do not want to spend my life searching. I do not want years to pass while I keep telling myself that real happiness is somewhere ahead of me.
I do not want to look back one day and realize that I was so busy waiting for the perfect life that I failed to recognize the presence of Jesus in the life He had actually given me.

I want to find Him now.
I want to find Him when prayer is beautiful, but also when prayer feels dry. I want to find Him when I am surrounded by people, but also when I feel alone. I want to find Him when everything makes sense, but especially when nothing makes sense.
I want to find Him in the Eucharist.
I want to find Him in confession.
I want to find Him in the Cross.
I want to find Him in the poor.
I want to find Him in those who are difficult for me to love.
I want to find Him in the small things that nobody sees.
I want to find Him in the place where He has placed me, rather than constantly dreaming about the place where I think I would be happier. Because perhaps this is the real conversion of the heart. It is not that I stop longing. It is that my longing finally discovers its true direction. I can still desire love. I can still desire friendship. I can still desire belonging. I can still desire beauty. I can still desire a meaningful life. But beneath all of these desires, I want to hear the deeper cry:
„Jesus.”

Maybe that is what my heart has been trying to say all along. Maybe every time I said, „I want to be loved,” there was something deeper saying, „I want Jesus.” Every time I said, „I want someone to understand me,” there was something deeper saying, „I want to be completely known by Jesus.” Every time I said, „I want somewhere to belong,” there was something deeper saying, „I want to belong to Christ.” Every time I said, „I want a love that will never leave me,” there was something deeper saying, „I want the One who will never abandon me.”

And suddenly the unicorn is no longer the most important part of the story. The longing is. Because the longing tells me something about myself. It tells me that I was made for more than this world can give. It tells me that my heart is restless because it was made for God. It tells me that I should not be ashamed of wanting a love that is complete, eternal and faithful.
But it also tells me where I must finally look.
Not everywhere.
Not endlessly.
Not tomorrow.
Here.
To Jesus.

Perhaps one day my own life will reach its evening. The things I once thought were so important will have faded. The people I knew will have changed. My own strength will have become weakness. There will be things I never understood and prayers that were never answered in the way I expected.

And I hope that, when that day comes, I will not have to ask, „Where was I supposed to find happiness?”
I hope I will be able to say:
„Jesus was here.”
He was here when I was happy.
He was here when I was afraid.
He was here when I was lost.
He was here when I was lonely.
He was here when I failed.
He was here when I began again.
He was here when I thought He was silent.

He was here all along. And perhaps, at the end of everything, I will understand that I was never really searching for a unicorn. I was searching for the face of Christ. I was searching for the love that would not disappear. I was searching for the One who could finally say to my restless heart, „You do not have to keep running anymore.”

And perhaps the most beautiful part of all is that I will discover that while I was searching for Him, He had never stopped searching for me. Jesus found me before I found Him. Jesus loved me before I knew how to love Him. Jesus waited for me before I knew I was coming home.
And maybe that is enough.
Maybe more than enough.
Jesus is enough.