Skip to main content

A False Hope

Something woke him up, and the clock said it's just 2 O'clock after midnight. He looked at the cell notifications, and gave out a sigh. He knew, he was fucked. Now, there's no way he could attend the morning meeting, and even if somehow he could, it would be a zombie barely looking alive at the office.

He always imagined that he'd have a perfect life, and after having it, he'd realized it wasn't perfect. It was as if he dreamed wrong. He used to cheer himself up whenever things would go south, by saying 'i just woke up on the wrong side of the bed', and now he felt as if he woke up to the wrong side of the life.

He rose, and went to the balcony, and on the way grabbed a can of beer from refrigerator. Holding that can made him laugh, cause it was only the beginning of the Monday. Apparently the breeze was pleasent, and the city was asleep.

Taking few sips at a time, he kept thinking about a question which was haunting him for long. "What do you want to do in life?", A question, he could never understand properly. He always felt that too much intelligence causes too much confusion. It's easy for a sparrow to decide what it wants, cause its needs and expectations are already defined, and nature equipped it with necessary skills to meet those expectations.

But this isn't the case with humans, at least who has some level of intelligence, people who are capable of thinking, who just don't follow blindly. Such people question everything comes to their mind, even their needs. And they fall from heights to realize that life isn't just a job, or marriage, or just survival.

But once this realization, there's an unsolved question waiting. If life isn't these simple things, then what's life is about? And that's what he was thinking while watching the moon. He had everything in life which anyone would define as perfect. And yet, days haunted him, nights gave him nightmares, cause there was some restlessness, he couldn't fathom.

While running up the infinite spiral staircase of thoughts, he got tired, and just gave up. Finished the rest of the beer, and looked at the dark sky above. And kept wondering, if everything feels pointless, why am I alive? Is there even any purpose? Or am I just a combination of molecules, got created while randomness of universe was expanding.

He knew it was time to try to sleep again, as he couldn't miss the meeting. He knew, it was gonna be a disaster, and yet he would made it out alive, as always. He knew he was blessed with the gift of 'survival without effort'.

He closed his eyes, and hoped, probably tomorrow something would happen which would make him realize his purpose. A false hope, at least.

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Book Thief

There are stories. There are good stories. And then there are stories which touch your soul. One such story is written by Markus Zusak, named as The Book thief. Narrated by the death itself, it's a story of a kid from Nazi Germany. Her name is Liesel. Living in a foster home, with her new Papa and Mama. But life is not fair with her. She has memories of a brother, she lost on a train. Her new mother is awful cook and pretty tough on her. She has nightmares every night. As she starts to live this new life on a place called Himmel Street, stuff keeps happening. She makes a best friend Rudy, who's has crush on her. Her father teaches her the art of reading from a book she has stolen from grave yard. And hence the title, the book thief. And then there's another important character, called Max. Who is a Jew in a Nazi Germany, who is given shelter in her basement. You go on a journey from a train, to a football match on street, to stealing apples and bread. From playing accordion...
Post a Comment
Read more

Writer's block

It's a phenomenon which a writer stumbles into once in a while. Basically s/he is not able to write anything. Somehow, the thought cycle which connects to words resulting into something meaningful is broken.  In other words, Monday blues. Unable to work. But this is little different with a writer. In an office, there will be an external enforcer (a Boss, in fancy words). But with a writer, it has to be a force within. An Intuition. But that's the thing, right? The urge, the motivation, the intuition, at times, just fades out, once in a while. When the linearity of life just stops bothering you. You fall in love with the concept of dormancy. Basically you become a couch potato (Until your mom starts to scold). But I feel, sometimes this block is a necessity. In terms of  industrial engineering, it is called mandatory buffer. A system should never be run at its max capacity all the time, or it will fail. Just like humans.  In life too, we keep figuring out what's next, all ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Whats your value?

In business, everything is considered with its value. Not price, but value. So what is value? According to me, it is something that provides importance to that particular element. So does a human being have a value? Of course it does. In mechanical field we equate human hours to profit gained in order to determine that person's value. But that's not the value I'm talking here. For me, value is like a trait. It might be very high in some aspects while it could be useless in other. Its up to you how you raise it. Its our behavior that decides it. Our way of handling situations, and people. If anyone is asked about valuable persons in his life the answer is simple. Family, friends, spouse etc. Those people we want in our lives have high value in our perspective. But does this mean the feeling is mutual? Think about that. So whenever you give someone more value than deserved, make sure that your calculations aren't wrong. Because if the perspective is d...
Post a Comment
Read more