To Kill the Rain

I always had a huge list of dreams when I was young, well part of it was baggage my parents had lugged onto me. Scientist, lawyer, doctor, play football, be a millionaire... it goes on into a downward spiral. But I had no such fancies of my own. All I sought was happiness and meaning. People seemed to have that in abundance but I could not seem to grasp the two.

What really exists is a pale imitation of the two, there is no true happiness nor meaning in this world, you have to be blind to not realise it.

So I isolated myself. I spent my youth talking to a bunch of stuffed animals cos I was the only child, a curse I continue to believe my parents had intentionally inflicted upon me.

Somehow I just grew up that way. Waiting, looking for a defining moment that would free me from my boundaries, my captivity.

A few events served that very purpose, sensitive stuff that I won't mention here, but suffice to say it made me so damn aware of the shortcomings of our kind.

The hoper, the dreamer, the idealist. They are all dead and for good reason. It never can be.

On the other hand, the realist is pretty much fucked as well. A mortal bound to the conventions of the world. An utter joke.

We have fallen so far from the truth of humanity, or perhaps the truth had always been a Holy Grail, some unattainable standard that we could only dream of. Look at the previous two paragraphs, look back at this. Yes, we're all on death row. Yet we still obsess ourselves with the very things that imprison us to this realm.

The great poets and thinkers were onto something, they sought to transcend, to exalt their minds from the entrapment of human psychology and life. Such was their vision, but alas it too seemed a mere concept.

I decided before even knowing of it, to try it myself. I sough to erode the lines between my frail human self and the omniscient soul. But freedom always comes at a price. I spent months, years, lifetimes, thinking, contemplating all these ideals we supposedly strive for.

I looked into all our worldly dreams and they were for nought. I had never hated myself so much as when I begun to realise the bitter truth. That I too was like one of them.

I took a leap of faith, I struggled to, I fought against the tide, I was so tired from being in conflict with myself. Until I found the answer, like a candle in a dark room a mile wide, you only see it if you squint your eyes and search forever for it.

Then one day I stepped out of that zone and the other guy was born. And along with him, emancipation.

Freedom and pain, two unrelated entities that encompass my existence, but such bitter freedom, and such beautiful pain too.

So why do I hate existence? Because it is the coldest enemy you'll ever have to fight.