The Only Difference Would Be Me

A part of me still wonders why it’s hard, though I always cheer at the end. I think I got an answer, every now and then everything changes. Bringing far-reaching ramifications. In each and every moment things happen, big, small, important and inexplicably great things. Atimes things that are just quite inevitable, things that are terribly consequential. Things that we try so hard to adjust to. 

A lot of times I ask myself what’s the worst thing that can happen to a person. Living someone else’s life or living in the shadow. Trying to live up to someone’s wishes or just being the black sheep. The uncomfortable moments when you pause to glance around and you realise you cannot explain how blood is thicker than water. Waking up every morning trying to understand how you turned into someone else’s “object of spewing hate and personal vendetta,” or just knowing you can’t amount to anything in the eyes of those who should really appreciate your existence. Those who are in the peripheral ring, “the blood.” I used to believe it was easy when I had it all. And then I met another reality, a flip side. There is a lot to live up to in other people’s world. Even so know what to believe in and stick to it. 

I tell it to the heart which one it is, but my curiosity has had me travel in different spheres. Sometimes I swing my imagination and relish the scope of what I can or cannot do. I understand that penny has power and not how many you have, its what you do with it. I’m not good at small talk, it doesn’t inspire my intelligence. I have tried small jokes though and the result, well let’s talk about it. Lets put it into perspective. Ten minutes ago, not so far from where you are standing, you said something. It’s not funny, but you thought it a joke, and you realise how bad it must have sounded. You try to change it but it blooms into a worse scenario. You think about it for a while and then a little longer than expected but along the way you can’t help but grasp, there is a difference between thinking and worrying. You are clearly not yourself anymore. And you are damn sure that worrying is a misuse of imagination. You try to stop but you can’t. Kinda it’s a crushing blow. 

Eventually, when you stop worrying, you begin to see as you observe and you discover, the scorn, the suspicion is an attribute of one’s own failure and mistakes. However, we make blunders don’t we, thanks only to the chaos and consequences they bring for we realise. Flung the only bucket of water you got, spluttered the only glass of milk on the wall. Oh, I have learnt as much manners. I’m always apologising, I’ll be apologising and maybe for the rest of my life. Sometimes it’s like routine, many times it takes the form somewhat like throwing stones to a cosy resting. From within though and in my recess I always ask myself, why do I see things so much differently from other people? Now I know that until fate finds me another answer, my objection to finding myself the butt of ridicule and speculation will remain overruled. 

Upon seeing from glancing around, I have realised that repairing a damaged human tissue is not easy it is scary, scary in the sense that its originality ceases. Fixing a nerve well just think about it. Hardest of all by miles, too late I have learnt, in the fields around my father’s hut, there’s no such thing as self-expression. Thoughts unexpressed desires untold… Infinite is learning, I’m not sure anymore if I have done much with my time for I have been busy trying to fit. Legit were the days I communicated through the medium of contemporary dumb. I found it distasteful to verbalise everything. And that was being me. Ralph Waldo was brilliant upon the subject, ” To be yourself in a world that is trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.” If anything out there is preventing you from being who you really are, fight it relentlessly, fight it to the bones even when it means losing a home or just losing a bone, losing sleep or just losing it all. And that’s the most difficult part. For the worst thing that can happen to a person is not being the person they ought to be even for a second. Transforming disdain to flattery maybe be easy, transforming oneself I’m not sure, in fact, I’ve come to appreciate what a big mistake it is. Indeed all of us cannot be inventors, poets or philanthropists. 
Be my friend don’t be my friend, don’t confuse arrogance for my lack of compromise. I’m a conservative if I don’t like it I won’t learn it I just don’t care. I won’t even talk about it. It’s not my fault that I can’t be like everybody else anyway. I’m not every other person.

All the evidence of my senses tell me, there exists marked disparity between the earth and the sky. The truth is, I’m trying to contain the very first difference; I’m being cautious. Being the person I’m, I’m realising I shouldn’t, for the difference between the earth and the sky is several flip pages apart in any dictionary. I understand that an individual is the central, rarest and most precious person in the society. Oh, how I have been paying close attention to that important detail. I’ll be honest though there are moments that I usually wonder. As a matter of factly, I nearly lost that piece of information once, wondering. I understand freedom isn’t fun, it’s a responsible choice. There is no freedom of being than being your real self. I think we should not rub shoulders with those who want to say something about how exactly we should run our lives; what we should say, when we should say and how we should say and in what language for the most basic part of it, is listening to what isn’t being said. I’m impressed by the anomaly I maybe. Need I ask what’s identity? 


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