Often I find myself telling people that my childhood was a bore. But after some time, I find that most of the things that I say are most likely to please people. I am so infatuated with the idea of being alone. I loathe the company of others who I know will never offer to be there for me in my darkest hour. And so, my thoughts are always to push people away from me…as far as I can. But you cannot do this so rashly, you have to be gentle, subtle. People should not directly sense that you oppose their company, but rather they should hint from your body language that you don’t really want to be near them. The thing is, I’ve always been an observer. Never the one who was observed and over time as I grew up and was more noticeable, people started observing how shy I am. People started pointing fingers lightly at me, accusing me of being a “social coward”. So be it…if I am a social coward then so be it. But I am not a social coward. It took time, but I grew up silenced, not by anyone but by my own freewill. I was scared of the sound of my shivering voice in a room full of people who seemed to gape down into my weak youthful soul. I still admire anonymity and I desire it but I know truly that no man will ever achieve such unlimited power. I know that. That’s saying that your blind even in the sight of God, but I digress into a whole another topic. Sure, it’s a good thing to be anonymous but no one can ever live a life full of such freedom. But anyway readers, I had something to say! I did. I had much to say. The beauty of an observer is that they collect various artifacts of human behaviour and store it into a museum within their minds. Observers open new doors, psychological notes and records which are all piled away into neat little files. The thing is, the complex system within our mind is debarred. It is held tight within the walls of an inferior soul. Many times, I feel that the mind and the soul war with each other. They seek different things. The objects they desire are antithetical to each other. Glory and anonymity. They diverge from each other. Two parallel tracks of different origins and destinations: one heading into the brilliant, radiant horizon of a yellow Sun. The other heading down into the abyss so dark that even the stars are lost within the black mass. I write this with the thoughts pouring out into my mind. See, the beauty is, even though I cannot speak as eloquently as this world will let me, I am not bothered that others will find it offensive when I write it down. I may not be able to speak but I will write.


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