And then there are times when you rant about everything serious, when there is the least need for you to be serious. You think you sound like you're on a mission, the biggest undertaking by man, but you actually sound more like a quack. And when realisation strikes, "Whoops, buddy! Too late!."
Damage irreversible.
The pursuit of happiness is a fundamental right for everyone. But in our pursuit of happiness, we actually forget to be happy. A huge contradiction in itself, isn't it? We're all uptight and serious about things that we think matter to us, or at least we pretend that way. But meh! Who gives a damn?
Most often, we complain about things, issues, that can be easily dealt with in a far easier manner than we usually imagine. Small tweaks here and there, a few moments of silence, a little bit of patience, and a little control over the tongue, and the world will be a better place to live in without shelling a dime, or, for that matter, shelling any place. But NO. We are all smart! So we want to sound smart. We want to look smart, at least to others.
We are so hell-bent on convincing the other to look through our eyes, that we forget about the two other perspectives that exist already. I picked the following from a poster in my friend's room. It said that
There are 3 sides to every argument. Your outlook, the opposition's outlook, and the correct outlook. And as I watch and analyse the things I do, I see how conveniently I throw the other 2 perspectives, the right one and that of the opposition, right out of the window. And again, by the time I even get a glimpse of where the banana peel was, I'm sitting on my big bum, wondering what just happened.
I hate arguments. I absolutely hate it when I need to convince someone of what I think. It is a painful and energy draining exercise. I'd rather bee the non-argumentative Indian. It feels a lot more convenient. No one would offend you, you wouldn't offend anyone, and everything can be happily ever after.
I am a perverse creature. And I'm sure many of us are. It is like this. Imagine you are a butterfly. You want to enter a particular room in a building. The reason you want to enter the room is because the occupant of the room tries preventing you from entering the room. So basically, you want to to enter the room for kicks. You happen to be smart as you figure out that there is a vent above the room's window that grants you entry into the room. So you go prancing about, very proud that you figured out a way to enter the room, despite the room's occupant doing his/her best to keep you from entering the room.
You fly full speed into the vent, squeeze yourself through the small space, and Woalah!! You just entered the room! But it is not a moment later that you get pulled into the vortex of the room's fan. And mind you, your wings are all-powerful. Agreed, that it will allow you to lift off the ground and soar to great heights. But sorry. They cannot let you escape the strong pull of the fan's vortex. And so, you get sucked into the fan's blades, and get in the way of one/more of these fan blades, breaking your wings, if not worse. And so, you come down with a crash. You are not going to survive. In your last moments, you hear the room's occupant say something. It's a beautiful looking girl, with skin the texture of cream, and a certain curl to every strand of her hair.
You cannot comprehend what the girl is saying, but it looks like she is scolding you for reasons probably way beyond your understanding. But from somewhere, you have an epiphany, a bolt of intelligence bestows itself upon you, and you suddenly realise that you can actually understand exactly what the girl is saying.
She is scolding you for having entered her room, and in the process, having put your life at risk. And the whole time, when you thought that she was preventing you from entering her room so that it would be more challenging a task, what she actually was doing was trying to save your life. For she knew, that once you enter her room, you wouldn't be able to escape the fan's vortex, and that she would have to perform your final rites. And that hurts her. You naively ask why. It is because although the pattern on your wings look like a pair of the most beautiful eyes there can ever be, you wouldn't live long enough to be the object of her admiration, if you happen to make the mistake of entering her room. Alas, that is a mistake you made, and it is a little too late.
But now, long after you are gone, she keeps a photo of you close to her heart, nevertheless, as a souvenir, as a symbol of something that made her experience an emotion she never felt before. And you shall never know how or what that emotion feels like, for a photo is all that remains of you...
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