I Am Baffled By The Uncertainty Of The Next Moment. It Wouldn't Be A Big Deal If Right Now I Am Sitting

I am baffled by the uncertainty of the next moment. It wouldn't be a big deal if right now I am sitting in a comfortable blanket, all warm and happy and the next moment, the world comes crashing down upon me. In the worst way possible.

I might be enjoying my most favourite song on the radio, and the next moment my heart may give up. In a literal way.

I might be thanking God, at this particular moment, of all I have, and the next moment I receive a call of a loved one gone.

I might be walking down the meadow breathing fresh air, and next moment my leg may slip, breaking me(and my leg) in the worst way possible.

I might be eating my favourite food right now, and the next moment, I may choke to death, when some particle constricts my trachea.

Such uncertainty in life and still I have such big plans, and continue to make some everyday. This uncertainty clouds my mind in the worst way possible. And probably this was the reason of Antonio's melancholy as well as mine.

There are instances when I am absolutely absent as a person. The instances I question myself what is the point of all this? And then I think of the humans I have my best moments with and there is the point. The point where my existence, and all the rashness of the world seems worth bearing.

Appreciative words can be so shallow when they describe about our appearances or intelligences. But god help me! The appeal held by the simple words when someone expresses they are glad you exist. Or when they call you kind. Or when they seek support in you. Or they calling you in times of needs. The explicit explanation of your character over your looks often hits home. In a good way.

I believe, as we age, we come in terms with how we have grown up. We make a definite statement about ourselves. We have likes, dislikes, favourites and subjects that describe the course of life we have taken in the past years. I also believe, that as we age, we finally drop the idea of adapting to the world, and stop finding the real in it. The people, the scenes, the circumstances, however difficult, don't deter us to the point of breakage. Because we have come in terms with ourselves. And the forces of worldly parameters, no more influence our course.

I love being trusted as a secret keeper. Like come dear, shed all your secrets in me, and I am so good at it, that I shall forget that myself or atleast pretend to forget for the sake of your security. I shall not talk about it again, even to you, so your forget you even shared it with me. And I shall go down in my grave, proud that I kept my words of keeping it a secret.

What about the feeling when you have heard so many stories, so many perceptions and so many thoughts that you know too much about people, who know nothing about you?

What about the feeling when out of politeness they ask about you, and when you start to reply, the story somehow triggers their topic and they become the subject?

What about the feeling when after all this, they believe they love you, for being their emotional support, but oblivious to the fact that support goes both ways?

What about the feeling when wanting same energy, support, love and compassion is considered selfishness and only self burning is considered the true form of affection?