Thursday, June 21, 2012
To be aimless, purposeless, isn't it natural? Who are we? We weren't born with any purpose, right? But somehow, we seem to have developed such notions. I wonder when we have started indulging ourselves in happiness that only comes with purposes in our lives. When was there any? Isn't it all transitory? What can be so great about anything I do? I have always felt insignificance, low confidence, self-doubt. Never could I really afford the luxury of a clear thought process, connecting dots with certainty, never satisfied. But was always told that that's what one is supposed to pursue. When I started writing this, I was empty and blank, with low spirits. Then, as I was writing, it started raining and it was good to know I had no control over nature and was allowed the luxury of the surprises it offered. It was scorching hot in the afternoon. Who'd have expected it to rain? So fragile living is and how arrogantly we force certainty onto it, killing the freedom of interpretation and expression.