Our Stories Told in 1000 Different Ways

A retelling of the routinary tale that we weave

As I have vowed to poetically compress the easier side of life in these pages, to a certain degree I have come to appreciate how appalling life can truly be.

You wake up. You get on with the daily grind. You sleep.

In between you get to socialize; choosing who to associate with should be fairly effortless, it would only take 7 seconds for your brain to decide whether to engage or withdraw. Soon enough, your skin felt comfortable within your circle.

An endless plethora of art in different forms and media may enthuse you. You float aimlessly until you identify a particular interest. At the first few parts of your engagement you sucked, but then again it only took you 21 days to form a habit. You decide to aim for progress rather than perfection. You become comfortable with the discipline.

And because you are alive, you sin. You outright reject criticisms, rage over petty claims, long for your neighbor’s fortune, desire inappropriate meat, consume more than necessary, preach false musings, hustle for the wrong purpose.

One day you wake up, feeling indifferent. You try to get on with the daily grind but you struggle. You try to sleep it off but something’s keeping you from such sweet slumber.

This keeping-up-with-life-chore, again, caught up.

In between, you hope to rebuild the walls that you have broken down and burn bridges instead. Every association is one inevitable weakness, fortitude can only be attained by consistently detaching yourself from every consortium you are in.

All of a sudden, being sentimental is impractical and senseless; pointless adoration is stupid.

Countless excuses plague your soul; you drop your passion. Again you wander without direction but this time without purpose. You found out that it will only take you just as much effort to make a habit in order to break one. Effort applied in the wrong manner is akin to a setback.

And in these days you should tell yourself that if nobody knows you exist, you do not. Isolation is death and not safety. You have been dying since the day you were born but the lives that you have touched will allow you to live forever. Because you are nothing but an idea, you have never been anything but a thought; just like everyone else.

You are neither alone nor special; you thank God you are not special.

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