It’s been a while since I witnessed the sunrise in the true sense. I am being constantly muddled by my subconscious in my multi-faceted delirium. There are times when I lust for freedom. There are times when I become an attention whore. My life has been a constant infringement of uncertainty. I am a confused human soul. I doubt my own oblivion. I seek solitude in my hedonism. I have created a labyrinth of my own existence from which I refuse to get out. I am no stranger to loneliness. I am a hologram of individualism. Sometimes I tend to flake away from my self-created puzzle to mingle in youthful shenanigans. Probably that is when I become an attention seeker; perhaps that is when I try too hard to earn recognition in things that consciously do not even matter to me. I tend to lose myself in the process of being likeable.
I am a selfish creature with no vile measures. I am transparent from outside, but pitch opaque from within. I am a theist when I am in trouble. I am the incorrigible humane creature who strives to be inhumane. I am bluntly equivocal. I am pessimistically happy. I portray the eccentric but strive for normalcy. My subconscious knows that I pretend. I do not trust my subconscious though. It is like a chameleon ensconced in a box with no openings. No one understands how or when it comes out.
I am not a pretender. I just see things differently. At least I think I do. But do I? I do not really know. No matter whatever I am or become, at the end I am just another hedonistic mental. I am not special. Nobody is. I see my traits in everybody. I’m a juxtaposed hybrid of multiple human emotions. I am not one unique individual. I am an amalgamation of everything good and disgusting found in mortals. I am an avenger when I strive for revenge. I am a forgiver when I’m not greatly affected. I smile when I’m happy, and I grin when I mock. That is when my subconscious questions me about my ability, and that is when I realise that mockery is foolery, mockery is hurtful. I mock nonetheless. I have a constant rift with my subconscious.
My life has been a bed of roses with no thorns. Yet, I am always wary of a thorn that somehow might creep in. I have sleepless nights when I become aware of my failure. I sleep peacefully when I am tired and learn to not care about my failure anymore. I dream like a war horse. I cry like a cry-baby. I smile like an infant. I play like a sportsman. Age does not decide my happiness. Neither do we decide our age.
I advise people in their troubled times, yet I am unable to tackle my own problems. My subconscious again doubts my ability or worth to advice others. Maybe I do not trust it, but its correctness is independent of my trust. I will never know if my subconscious is right. All I know is that it is my own unique subconscious. We may not be unique; we may be reflections of each other, but the subconscious works differently for everyone.
But then I realize, that if this is the case, then probably we are all unique in our own ways. I have sleepless nights over my futile attempt to comprehend this for so long. I keep on pondering about this. But I become tired and just let my failure off my mind, and sleep peacefully. When I wake up, I find my inner self intact, my subconscious scratch-free.
But this time, it is someone else. It is not me. It is a reflection of who I want to be. I do not trust it at all. It keeps on changing like a cold-blooded chameleon. I keep having these irreversible realizations that keep on changing frivolously. This is not real. Sub-conscious is not real. I am not real. Or maybe, I have created a labyrinth of my own existence. I am being constantly muddled in my multi-faceted delirium.
It’s been a while since I witnessed sunrise, in the true sense.