“You converse so beautifully, why don’t you write?” he asked,
“Writing is for the weak, I don’t want people to think I’m miserable”, I replied while turning the pages of the book I was reading.
For instance it occurred to me how I had always overlooked things I loved and let them bury deep within. How a 9 year old me would make books out of old papers and write in broken sentences hoping to make sense.
“Why do you read then”? he spoke interrupting my thoughts ,
“Simply because i’m bored”, I replied seeming less interested,
Is it arrogance? I asked myself. No, it’s not that; it’s an ineffable sense of sufferance which makes one believe in a self created imagery of strength. I’m strong because I’m supposed to be and just that,no reasoning or justification explains it; I had always been this way. It’s like every atom I was composed of consisted of tiny speck of resilience and fortitude. “It’s okay, I’m fine”.
Erroneous as it was, it always left me with a certain feeling of emptiness. How long can one brawl pointless battles with ones self? .There is a certain deliverance in defeat, peace in letting go and serenity in accepting things. Everything is not okay and you are not bound to let it crush you. Shunning your inner light just to fit in the statue of strength is an injustice to one’s soul.
I’ve been thinking how we seek peace and happiness all our lives but fail to realize that the only reason most of us are not contented is because somewhere or another, we are shutting out parts of us. We are too cautious about how we might appear that we slowly erase who we really are.
I’ve realized over time how real freedom is not in being able to do anything or everything instead it’s in being transparent about how you really want things to be, it’s in saying good riddance and letting go of a certain self-image and unapologetically being your truein saying what you truly mean without caring how you may appear,It’s in living up to your own rules and standards and not changing them to fit anyone.