It is awhile before I can dislodge myself from that world.
Literature allowed us to be more sensitive of words, more aware of things happening around us. Slowly, the truth starts to reveal itself, coming out from the veil of disguise that has kept us in the unknown for years. It is scary, as if the world is opening up to us. Everything becomes clear, stark. Under the scrunity and the glare of light. It makes us more conscious. But it might make us crazy.
And into the second term of school, the capacity that you once had for work has to be widened. By hook or by crook. Sometimes you feel larger than life, that mistakes cannot be tolerated, that one wrong move would lead to disastrous consequences. That your words, thoughts and feelings can be traded for a number. That a number can mean so much. And help you decide the course of your life.
It's like living in a steel, rigid box. Confined to what is expected of you and what you should do. We go along the lines of organisation and routine. We strive to achieve perfection but always fall short. Like an asymptote, tending to but never reaching.
We long to break free but just have no means to. And no courage. Maybe by saying we I mean 'I'. There are ideals, there are thoughts out of the box. For greener pastures, for a taste of something we have never had before. But these, merely thoughts.
Facing limitless skies and even just an open field is.. what do the French call it? Libération. It feels good to be as small as an ant without the weight of the world on your shoulders. Or so you think. To be in a faceless crowd of strangers seems just as good. To be lost. In your own thoughts. And yet Time seems to push you like an invisible force, through the maze, forcing you to find your way through faster than Time, like a race.
Time has never been on our side.
