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Requiem of a dream

It is a twisted world out there.

The happiest around you might be suffering from gravest of the pain. The saddest willing to stake everything for others happiness. The kindest face can be the meanest. And the ugliest faces may hide the most beautiful of the hearts. In this life, while the evil-doers march the sacred of the stages. But the crusaders of the truth are killed and thrown in the dirtiest of the drains. The ones who appear wealthy are the poorest. And in the gloomiest of the downtowns, you find the heartiest of laughs. Everything appears to be something it is not. And what that it actually is remains hidden to our naked eyes.

Our eyes — the portal through which we observe the world around us, that gives us this power to understand that is out there, to separate grain from the husk — apparently our biggest ally — are, in fact, the biggest of our enemies. Even when in the plain sight, it chooses to ignore that it doesn’t want to see. And sees what it daydreams, as if it is the only truth that is out there. What we see as truth is nothing but a subtle distortion of reality that makes us feel good — that everything is going to be fine.

Everything is not going to be fine.

The things will go haywire, you will fall, many times, and worse, you’ll fall in front of your eyes too. You’ll do the things that you denounce in public. You say to others things which you hope to never hear. You lie, you cheat, you do the things that render you a hypocrite. And the sad part is you know all that. You know this in your bones.

You can hide behind your skin in public, but not in front of your own self. You’ll know it — every lie you have said, every crime you’ve committed — to the last detail. However good you might appear to the others, within yourself, you are naked — stripped of that glorious mask of appropriateness you wear in public. Stripped off that facade you have built in the public. And the sad part is — you’ll be okay with that.

You’ll be okay with it for you can justify your actions. You can rationalize everything about yourself. Because this, because that — will become your paintbrushes with which you will coat your ugly existence, again and again, turning it into a beautiful portrait. Distorting and metamorphosing yourself in front of your own eyes, (even though deep down you know what you are.) You justify and rationalize yourself. Your deeds, and your doings. Your lies and your lust. Your crimes and your corruptions. Your insanity and insults. Until you start believing in this lie — as if it was a truth etched in stone.

But sometimes when you are standing and looking into a sky or lost in some stray thought, an image will strike you suddenly of a time when you were a young boy who used to think what kind of man you would be. That he’ll become someone everyone else will look up to. Like a hero he sees in the movies or read in the books. Someone who’ll save the world, stand up for the truth. Someone who will save that damsel in distress. Someone who’ll never make people cry. Someone who will persevere against all kind of challenges. All kind of evils.

And thinking this, you’ll feel a pang in your heart. Even though it will last for an instant, you’ll feel it like a razor cutting your skin. For at that moment, you’ll realize, that you have become the exact opposite of what you’ve imagined yourself to be. A dark shadow of the good you hoped will change the world. Who will make the world around you happy?

You have degraded into something you’d never imagined — a disease, a villain, a man you were never supposed to become.

Originally published at Tidbits.