off the cuff

There is a search, a deep-rooted issue that I want to resolve. It has nothing to do with the world and everything to do with self. When do the boundaries between what is sane to you and the world become so pronounced that the idea of another slice of the mundane life seems like an insult?

There is an effort which goes into convincing myself that what I believe in, feel, think about is constructive at some level. The cobwebs are ordinarily translucent. But strong. If only I would learn to compromise on things that I may or may not laugh about a few years down the line. This struggle is tiring. Destroying my arguments to be.

Finding my way to that one thing that is the reason why we feel strongly about things is surprisingly twisted and long-winded. When will people realise that at a very significant point I am basically selfish and don’t really care about what the world thinks of me, talks about me, wants me to be? I had made my peace with this a long time ago. It has crossed the abyss that separates the belief from the conviction.

Perhaps when it matters least, this part of me shall be accepted. The talks won’t seem too empty; the actions not too proud; the intent not disrespectful. But it will be beyond that what can be repaired now. The thread is still flexible enough to accommodate that which we all hold dear. The reason why it all matters is because it is now.

We all learn from wherever we have been to find out what we hold dear is infact essential to how we shall shape ourselves. I have found it. The arguments, the sarcasm, the value of what you say, the blood that you shed everytime you murder me — none of these can deter to where I am headed.