Bookmark #743

As we grow older, I notice a sudden urge for solidity in people. Now that life has shocked and awed us and, in some cases, humbled us, there is an obsession to stay in the familiar. This is not about carrying big dreams or holding onto your ideas with the clutch of a toddler but rather about the general day-to-day. People have now become so concrete around me that the cement has begun to leak into my life, and now, hastily, I am trying to move my feet not to be trapped, and then, when I manage to shake it off, I will try and find others like me. But for now, I must do my best to resist this rigidity. I want to live in a world where anything is possible, even if I cannot do it myself. It is the possibility of things that I want to believe in even if they are not possible for me, and for most things, I want to believe they are possible for me, too.

Is this an unfair expectation from life? I believe otherwise. I think this is how we are meant to live, if at all. The popular quote goes, “Birds born in a cage think flying is an illness,” suggesting (to me, at least) that most cages are built by the prisoners inside them. They build them one by one, brick by brick, bar by bar, and then, they sit quietly singing lamentations about being trapped, about things being as far away from their expectations as the setting sun. But what stops you, I ask? What prevents you from walking towards the sun anyway? How will you know if you can catch it before it disappears unless you try? There is so much to do in this life and not the intelligent stuff, but rather, invent a game, hop over a puddle, make stories of make-believe while walking on the sidewalk, listen to music—new music that you have never heard of, even if you do not enjoy it. Life’s pleasures are all hidden behind the walls of our minds—open them! What is the worst that can happen?

The train to disappearing forever is rushing with all its force; the pistons are working overtime, and we will all cease to be soon, like how we were never here. What are some sixty, seventy years in front of the history of this world, of civilisation? We might as well look ridiculous. No one will remember half of what we did.

// if you want to support this walk to nowhere, you can pitch in here