I am none of things I like

PAIN, I have heard pain is often associated with depth. But now that I have been through some myself, I contradict this belief. Pain is not deep, it the general grief of want, and longing and greed. We all are in pain and suffering because we long for things we don't have or might never get. There's hardly anything noble about greed no matter how pure the destination might be. To endure, and to overcome is the depth. It is easier to be washed away with the tide in the ocean of grief but it is hard to brave it. And therefore I shall contradict, pain is not depth sustaining it is.

May the point is there is no point. We are searching for meaning. Something to hold onto because we are scared of being unhinged, untethered when we know the only altruism is change. Change is what is constant, change will keep coming and nothing can stop that. The paradox is even moronic if you look at it that change is the only definite yet. The meaning or the stability is the most meaningless thing to look for because the meaning never existed on its own, it was never there yet we seek it. We're funny, us, humans, we are scared of things we definitely know of but we desparately seek out for things that are unknown.

Is it just me or we all have at points in life thought "Ah I wish I did things differently." And maybe that is the point, maybe being human, being alive cannot mean you can love just one thing. It is humanly impossible. One work, one place, one person. Because had that been the point none of us would ever introduce ourselves to newer ideas. It is those fleeting moments when you wish to escape are I believe when you see things for what they are and not caught up in how it might seem. Nobody has it figured out because nobody is just one person, all of us are colorful and that is the point because if we stop dreaming, doing things we never thought we'll end up doing, how is it even worth living?

It is a scary thought that I will never be able to love another completely again. It is this generation, so fickle, so quick to move to the next, would it ever be able to survive the old-fashion way? Would anyone ever try to put in all that it takes? Would love ever be the certain cornerstone that it ever was again? I fear, I am solemnly scared to try because my heart is already bleeding, will it be able to ever take a wound again?

Everytime I went home, suddenly a sadness grasped me. I had a hard time understanding why that used to happen. It was much later that I realised, it was a sense of familiarity or to put it correctly boredom. The familiarity was something I took so much for granted that it left behind sadness, sadness of mundane routines, reality, and a strong urge to escape. It was when I left and came back after a long time, only then I could appreciate it for what it truly was, home.