Sometimes We End Up Explaining Too Much Of Ourselves, Our Actions And Behavioural Pattern. It Is Natural.

Sometimes we end up explaining too much of ourselves, our actions and behavioural pattern. It is natural. It is a humanly instinct to want to be perceived right. But in the meantime, we forget that the world doesn't look at us like it is the judge. A judge who will responsibly consider the facts and deliver the judgement with righteousness. Instead, the world is a prosecutor, the opposite side, which shall, to the best of it's ability put forward all the arguments that prove us wrong.

This is where the concept of 'mysterious air' kicks in. We eventually stop explaining as we realize the nature of the world. It becomes important to not let the self proclaimed judge namely world to pass the judgement. Mystery-no more remains a fashion, but a necessity.

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.

On the contrary, I can't hide things about me, in me. I have to have someone to share it all. Be it a person, or papers. I trust papers to not leak or tell my secrets to anybody, and I try to trust people to do the same. Time tells me who succeeds, but it is beautiful to bare myself all before someone and not be worried that I caused a mess. Like even if it all spilled, like pages, they would collect it all and keep it the deepest drawers of the library, situated in their hearts.

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.

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?

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.