Perspective

It’s all very hazy when you look close enough. Faces drifting in and out like autumn leaves floating through the wind. The onrush of words producing a static in warp speed. Moments ticking by, vanishing like stars in a blackhole. There’s so little that we can hold on to, when compared to all the million moments that just fade into oblivion. In a vast universe made up of eons and galaxies, how many stars are enough to not feel lonely? I always thought that there’s hope. That there’s something out there, which will bring meaning to everything that is. Everything that was or will be. I open doors leading to different people, different worlds. It all depends on how you see it. What music is playing in the background? Is it a sad symphony or an adorable lullaby. What do you see when you’re not looking? What do you hear when you’re not listening? What is your perspective?

All these passengers roaming about on a platform, it’s like I’m standing still and the world is moving all around me in warp speed. Voices, faces and figures transmuting into epiphanies. I hear so many words everyday spilled out hastily by careless speakers, I hear people filtering their truths with lies of comfort. But where are we heading? On this journey of stars and green fields and gay blossoms. How many bumps can you afford? Did you take your head out to look at the beautiful scenery amid your journey or were you too busy whining about getting to the end. Did you let your hand sway in the dancing spring breeze or were you too stuck up and lost in your mp3 while your weary eyes fell asleep. Oblivious to all the experiences that were scattered all around you like raindrops in a monsoon. Experiences you never had because you were too busy focusing on how bumpy the road is.

And then once in a while, there is this serendipitious moment of clarity, when the storms cease to bother and you look past the hinging raindrops stuck in midair. Away from their beginning, not anywhere near their end. In retrospect, I’m standing outside a bookshop and it’s raining. And I can hear the beautiful song of the raindrops tiptoeing onto obliterating surfaces. The evanescence of the raindrops twirling into the nascence of music. We’re so hung up on being here, there and everywhere. And then we complain on being stuck. Why can’t we all learn to let go like the kindling in a fire. Why are we so scared of becoming a new person? Why can’t we let go of everything we’ve always held onto. Isn’t monotony a rather crippling force of destitution that strips you off all your dreams and imagination. Why can’t we just go back to being the little child who knows nothing but to question everything he sees? The child who dreams endlessly and believes in them, and thinks that the world is stupid for preaching otherwise.

Write as many words as you know, even if they don’t make any sense. Even if none of this gibberish made any sense just understand one thing: it doesn’t always have to. Because experiencing is more important than judging. And living is more important than merely existing. Look inside your heart, now tell me what do you feel? And ask yourself whatever you’re feeling right now, is that the last feeling you’d want to experience if you were to die the next moment? If it is, then this monotonous predication would’ve made sense. If not, then you should go down your memory lane and ponder upon all those times when the only loving companions you had were solitude and mother nature. And ask yourself how many times did you notice their presence in the absence of things and people. And how many times did you discover things that you normally never noticed.

We are all classified anomalies made up of the experiences we have. If you don’t know the answers when you’ve been seeking them too long, you’re either asking the wrong questions or looking in the wrong places. Or maybe you don’t know how long is too long? But the real question is are these questions important? Are these worth the last moment of your life? Are you asking too many questions? Like me?

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