As we make our way down this road of Life, why must there be those instances when you feel like no one understands? No one understands you, no one understands what you do, no one understands why you do what you do. To feel so small and so insignificant, for no one is able to perceive what you truly want to exhibit. That horrid realisation of having no one to turn to, to feel so pathetically entrapped in your own mentally constructed fortified palace of negativity.

Why must we be forced to dissemble? To learn to hide, conceal, camouflage; to mask our identity, our entity; to go about living behind a facade, a permanent mask. At times we live so so long behind and under such a terribly artificial guise that we forget our fundamental being and we lose track of our raw ipseity. For one, growing up we strive to shy away from what is rejected by social norms, to bend ourselves to conform with what is well-received. How long does it take to outgrow this boundless sense of insecurity and the bugging feeling that one has to live up to the status quo?

Why must we be so afraid of who we reveal what to? To live in such an absurd amount of trepidation; to worry endlessly and futilely. Is it possible for one to live free from the fear of being judged? For being unrightfully scorned upon by another individual - a stranger or a friend. How do you characterise who knows you and who does not? How do you quantify emotion and relation and interaction? Weary of living a life inundated in doubt, and perpetually suppressed under the hand of cowardice.

Why must we be subjected to periods of feeling so lost? Feeling your way through a dark empty tunnel, with diminishing hope of finding light. Or even more tragically, watching as the last traces of luminosity fade into sheer darkness; reminiscent to a heavy wispy fog descending, bringing about a palpable sense of unease and anxiety in tow.

Why must we be a part of a society degraded in terms of compassion; a world where currency overrules our sense of reason and is intent in blindly us extensively, yet is not valuable enough to buy time or care or love? So many a time the almost unfathomable ugliness of human nature brews and billows under wraps, manifesting in ungracious deeds and thoughtless words. People do not think at times, or they do not think enough; that lack of thought-process before speaking or acting can be wholly damaging, to the extent of which nothing can be done to compensate for the wrong committed or to plug the holes after they have been created.

Why must we struggle with imperfection in our ceaseless pursuit for perfection? If the choice had been to make the world thoroughly perfect or imperfect, why was the decision the latter? Will life be easier if everything was rosy and flawless and whole? Perhaps not. But we will never know, for we are simply expected to comply to life as it is, moulded by warped opinions, and misshapen perceptions, and diverging perspectives.

Why must we live through pain and sorrow? Why is there grief? Why is there suffering? There are too many contributing to the abundance of pain and sorrow than those eradicating it. It is morbidly intriguing how the purest and kindest of hearts leave too soon, yet those vile and twisted seem to thrive eternally. Has karma truly been thrown away to the wind? Perhaps the good indeed do rightfully earn themselves the golden ticket away to a better place sooner. 

Why must we fight for love? We try so hard to typify and quantify love and at the end of the day, there never seems to be enough to go around. For those who go about still feeling so unloved and uncared for, resulting in a lack of reciprocation for the tiny bit they receive, because it is simply neither enough to substantiate the fact that others care nor enough to bring about content. For those who know some where out there someone cares for them, but are just unable to feel it regardless of how they try. For those who try so hard to find and fight for love with so ambiguous a definition of it that they do not know exactly what they are plundering for. Unequivocal love against equivocal love. Selfless love against selfish love.

I hate it when people start going on with all the nonsense of feeling so down, or so alone, or how life is such a pain, or how they just lack the will to continue – I hate it, I honestly honestly thoroughly hate it. But what I hate more is, as ironic as it may be, how I get it so much too. I want to get over and get out of it. I want to stop. As much as I  despise myself for it, sometimes I so desperately feel the need for an ounce of sympathy. I do not understand why we have to feel down, I do not understand why I feel down. There are so many things I do not understand, do not comprehend. Putting aside those moments of being overly demanding or overly accusatory, it is tough to expect someone else to understand when even you alone cannot.

Being alive is tough. There are too many questions with too few answers.

Careful the things you say, children will listen
Careful the things you do, children will see and learn
Children may not obey, but children will listen
Children will look to you, for which way to turn, to learn what to be
Careful before you say, listen to me. Children will listen.

As we make our way down this road of Life, why must there be those instances when you feel like no one understands? No one understands you, no one understands what you do, no one understands why you do what you do. To feel so small and so insignificant, for no one is able to perceive what you truly want to exhibit. That horrid realisation of having no one to turn to, to feel so pathetically entrapped in your own mentally constructed fortified palace of negativity.

Why must we be forced to dissemble? To learn to hide, conceal, camouflage; to mask our identity, our entity; to go about living behind a facade, a permanent mask. At times we live so so long behind and under such a terribly artificial guise that we forget our fundamental being and we lose track of our raw ipseity. For one, growing up we strive to shy away from what is rejected by social norms, to bend ourselves to conform with what is well-received. How long does it take to outgrow this boundless sense of insecurity and the bugging feeling that one has to live up to the status quo?

Why must we be so afraid of who we reveal what to? To live in such an absurd amount of trepidation; to worry endlessly and futilely. Is it possible for one to live free from the fear of being judged? For being unrightfully scorned upon by another individual - a stranger or a friend. How do you characterise who knows you and who does not? How do you quantify emotion and relation and interaction? Weary of living a life inundated in doubt, and perpetually suppressed under the hand of cowardice.

Why must we be subjected to periods of feeling so lost? Feeling your way through a dark empty tunnel, with diminishing hope of finding light. Or even more tragically, watching as the last traces of luminosity fade into sheer darkness; reminiscent to a heavy wispy fog descending, bringing about a palpable sense of unease and anxiety in tow.

Why must we be a part of a society degraded in terms of compassion; a world where currency overrules our sense of reason and is intent in blindly us extensively, yet is not valuable enough to buy time or care or love? So many a time the almost unfathomable ugliness of human nature brews and billows under wraps, manifesting in ungracious deeds and thoughtless words. People do not think at times, or they do not think enough; that lack of thought-process before speaking or acting can be wholly damaging, to the extent of which nothing can be done to compensate for the wrong committed or to plug the holes after they have been created.

Why must we struggle with imperfection in our ceaseless pursuit for perfection? If the choice had been to make the world thoroughly perfect or imperfect, why was the decision the latter? Will life be easier if everything was rosy and flawless and whole? Perhaps not. But we will never know, for we are simply expected to comply to life as it is, moulded by warped opinions, and misshapen perceptions, and diverging perspectives.

Why must we live through pain and sorrow? Why is there grief? Why is there suffering? There are too many contributing to the abundance of pain and sorrow than those eradicating it. It is morbidly intriguing how the purest and kindest of hearts leave too soon, yet those vile and twisted seem to thrive eternally. Has karma truly been thrown away to the wind? Perhaps the good indeed do rightfully earn themselves the golden ticket away to a better place sooner. 

Why must we fight for love? We try so hard to typify and quantify love and at the end of the day, there never seems to be enough to go around. For those who go about still feeling so unloved and uncared for, resulting in a lack of reciprocation for the tiny bit they receive, because it is simply neither enough to substantiate the fact that others care nor enough to bring about content. For those who know some where out there someone cares for them, but are just unable to feel it regardless of how they try. For those who try so hard to find and fight for love with so ambiguous a definition of it that they do not know exactly what they are plundering for. Unequivocal love against equivocal love. Selfless love against selfish love.

I hate it when people start going on with all the nonsense of feeling so down, or so alone, or how life is such a pain, or how they just lack the will to continue – I hate it, I honestly honestly thoroughly hate it. But what I hate more is, as ironic as it may be, how I get it so much too. I want to get over and get out of it. I want to stop. As much as I  despise myself for it, sometimes I so desperately feel the need for an ounce of sympathy. I do not understand why we have to feel down, I do not understand why I feel down. There are so many things I do not understand, do not comprehend. Putting aside those moments of being overly demanding or overly accusatory, it is tough to expect someone else to understand when even you alone cannot.

Being alive is tough. There are too many questions with too few answers.

Careful the things you say, children will listen
Careful the things you do, children will see and learn
Children may not obey, but children will listen
Children will look to you, for which way to turn, to learn what to be
Careful before you say, listen to me. Children will listen.