Whenever I come across a grown up man, I wish to know the child within him. What was he like when he was five years old? Didn’t that child tear up those dark clouds that covered the sky, which looked like the whole world to him, with his tender hands, to let those infinite number of rays of sunshine touch the lubricating sheath of his eyeballs? I long to meet that ten years old who would run miles, across the fields, with bare feet absorbing the drops of fresh water at the tips of the lush grass. I want to know that thirteen years old, who commenced exploring that unexpounded world of first love, and stepped into the chaotic conundrum. What if we could be thirteen again? What if we could wait impatiently for our friends to reach school and hug them, the tightest we ever could, again? How I could give anything to be that tiny self, that lugged a weightless bag onto my shoulders, without any thoughts about the complex Raoult’s law or how to solve another problem of Integral Calculus! How I would love to day dream about everything and anything, and not have nightmarish dreams of some of the pages of my Physics book. Moreover, the anxiety and frustration that devour a man everyday, would be miles away as unknown entities, when we were children, yet to be exposed to the ultraviolet radiation of the malevolence.
Do you not wonder why you changed yourself?
Why did you modify that only true self, like those avatars in the games?
Isn’t it ironical that change is for betterment, however we should not dare to change who we are, because that defines the singularity and yet, we change? I have ceased trusting the words, whoever it came from, that shook my ear drums and my nervous system translated it into the code that my cerebrum fathomed. Little did my brain know about those words’ authenticity. That was the ultimate reason why I installed my body with a system that did work as a compiler, but did not register the authenticity of the things that were put into my ears. The genuineness would, then, be observed immaculately, and even if it is proved to be authentic for the time being, the ravages of time would be another factor that gets included into the equation, I have created. After all the analysis, I would still not be confirmed with the results. It is not a faulty system, but the people who surround me, make it a tough job for my compiler to operate. And, then, I wonder again, if it is possible to have such a beautiful world, that needs no compiler.
No chaotic theories.
Theories that made the loudest din.
Wouldn’t you want to run again? Laugh with your friends? Smile again, maybe? Your brain needs some air, to breathe. Your heart? Some time to heal.
And, you? Some courage to live again. Learn anything and everything, you can. Search for glee in what you do, and discover art in the atmosphere, you dwell in.
For once, erase all of them, who force you to operate your compiler. Do everything you love. And, live.
I want anyone, who is reading this, to share their best moments, in the comments. I would love to read some beautiful stories.
Have a great life.
*Feel free to give your views*