2003-12-04
Reflection on Life
With a steady hand I type tonight, bringing my thoughts to life with the few eloquent words that I have left in this exhausted mind of mine. The preponderance of my worries causes my lack of sleep, and what's infinitely worse, my lack of peace. I have been contemplating these past days with great depth, and while I have always been contemplative (every moment that I am not speaking to someone) I find that these days I have reached a peak. Unmeasurable comfort can be found in one's own mind, and many times I find that I become my own companion. I sit here with great apprehension for the future, and what it will bring forth. As a human, I have failed. I have failed because I am much too naive; what's worse however, is the fact that I am fully aware of my naivete, and scarcely take any actions to correct myself. When will my time come to learn? Lately, I have been able to acknowledge that we live in two separate worlds: the real world, filled with proof and logic, and the Romantic world which we created ourselves, filled with fantasy and the everlasting conviction that we were brought forth on this earth by divine intervention. It is undoubtedly possible to assimilate oneself in the real world, and as a result, you will become more humble once seeing the great truth. However, it is by far more pleasing and not to mention easier to indulge ourselves in our world of fantasy. The latter is what I, for the past seventeen years of my feeble existence, have been guilty of--indulging myself in the world of fantasy.
How to fix that great fault of mine, I do not yet know. I do know, however, that such an indulgence is the result of my being naive, and my being human. I ardently believe that I should not be human, but rather do the impossible and detach myself. While I take the form of a human, inside I am something else, a mere observer of the catastrophies taking place on this planet. There is one definite form of self-elevation and self-distinguishment from the masses: knowledge. The willingness to accept it, and intellectually stimulate oneself lies in those who are truly perceptive. The great truth is there, and sometimes one lucky being stumbles upon it effortlessly, yet they cannot bring themselves to leave their Romanticism aside. True, it does indeed bring us joy, but I have yet to see the day when we all gleefully accept the truth.