Most days I feel like I’m drifting on a raft inside an insane storm. I see myself in the storm atop a dry, barren hill where there is nobody around except you and the wilderness. Only a few miles below there is civilization, people thriving, commerce booming, marvelous architecture, the whole shebang.
Our friend here, hasn’t been officially exiled or outcast by any means by most of the people rather it is semi self-imposed, not out of will. You see Mr Quiet Blue is an oddball, a square peg in a round hole in social settings, the kind of person who tries their best to cut off social media kind of person. The curse of being human makes him yearn for connection. Which he tries his best to fulfill but he doesn’t feel fully seen or heard.
He wonders what is wrong with him, tries to find it and fix it. It isn’t a surprise that he hates being the square peg in a world full of spheres, the search for polygons of all kinds continues. { There are polygons but on a regular basis not to say there are none, you should look at the essence of all this. [I have killed the flow with the bracket 🤦♂️] }
He watches from the
watchtower what people are doing, the ones who are walking does the classic
walk and talk, some on the phone while they wait for their bus, two people
having the time of their life with roaring laughter. This makes him reminisce
his fun times with other polygons, which slowly burns to sadness, as they
aren’t with you right now, lately good things of such kind seldom occur.
Mr Blue has had enough of it. The human being experience isn’t so fun for him for obvious reasons, he decides for the Nth time he has decided to try and become a circle, as that is what is expected of him. The “glorious” process of turning into a circle from a square involves filling out the corners of a square.
You dance the silly
dance you loathe, cry noise like the rest, the nauseating exchange of empty
pleasantries always has their spotlight, knowing if it is raining or sun is a
bit too enthusiastic that day, in an area where the other person lives has nothing
to do with you.
So, what does he want you ask ? The exact opposite of what is happening dancing
no pointless silly dance, speaking words which has weight and mean something,
and finally say something real or stay silent. {This turned into a rant real
quick. 🥲}
Anyway he danced their dance and cried their noise like the good boy I was
aiming to be, I wonderfully painted the mask that was expected by me. Each
stroke of paint on the mask made Mr Blue more and more hollow and blue on the
inside. The whole ordeal was repulsive, but I wonder as he sips the cocktail of
Oxytocin and dopamine at the expense of societal acceptance, was this feeling worth selling himself out ? Be lonely alone deprived of Oxytocin or sell
yourself and join the heard for that sweet sweet Oxytocin ?
The third option of pulling the plug and plunging into the ocean from the raft
seems more tempting than this lifetime torture, but, things don’t sadly work
like that does it. We decide when we need to take that exit route, you shouldn’t,
but you can cave into pulling the fire alarm which is a big no no, fight the fire,
if nothing for the sake of it.
Like always
Godspeed
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