The sharpened blade of our pain rolled into the precipice of our becoming. What do we call that again?
A journey.
A journey you say, but it is a never ending destination that may put us right back to the spot where we keep learning again and again…
An ageless loop of lessons. Maybe we have already arrived where we were striving to be…
The destination is in the lesson.
Too scared to tell a story. Too scared to be different or follow a different path. Not even sure of the narrative; too afraid to blaze through the darkening blizzards to find out.
What if there is no narrative?
It is way easier to conform; to not struggle against the banality of copy cat but the far reaching implication is in the weight of the ordinary when we could have soared the terrain of extra ordinary…
Who says no one would appreciate? Maybe all that is known is the conformist impersonating the anomaly and so everyone is forced to binge on imitates.
In the empty pages of our existence lies our greatest power to script each line with the truth.
The truth about our weakness, disabilities, our failures; woes, and depression.
Maybe the goal is not to be inspirational but aspirational…to keep reaching to that higher self that we were meant to be.
Maybe each day is supposed to break a cycle of self as we’ve come to know and to catapault us to reach for a remodeled shade of self that holds no semblance to our past but is recognizable by our future.
You think you are extraordinary? Yet, too complacent to pay the price of difference. The loneliness, the unpopularity, the ostracization…
In simple words; these are just passing events-ephemeral in the face of our eternal value which is our transmogrified self.
The goal is ingenuity in the face of common, to brandish self in the truest form and not to apologize for being.
Connoisseur of Memories 