What if I close my eyes for a few flying seconds just to open them and find out that it's all an illusion. There are no local trains. There is no home, no work, no CST. The history of India, the world, the history of mankind was fabricated by my imaginative mind. What if the music that I listen to, that the world listens to is a figment too? Pen and paper never existed, and neither did the people I love and those I don't. What am I? Who am I? Will I ever know? Do I really wish to know or am I complacent with this illusion?
What is freedom?
I don't know.
Sometimes I think I do. Sometimes a place, a situation or a person invokes a strange kind of happiness within me, and I relate it to freedom. I say to myself that I feel liberated. But is it so really?
What is what? What is existence?
I don't know. Do I wish to know? May be...
Can I handle the truth? May be...
Today's playlist:
Invisible - U2
Ordinary love - U2
My way - Frank Sinatra
Every breath you take - The Police
Fly me to the moon - Frank Sinatra
Inspiration can be a tricky thing sometimes. When you say somebody inspires you to be better, in a small corner of your head you place that person above yourself. You belittle your being. And sometimes that can have a negative impact on your mind.
Also, when you are inspired by somebody, you want to embrace some of their virtues. How does it differentiate you from them eventually? How do you differentiate yourself from all those who have left something on you and moulded you in some way or the other? Are we any different at all?
Hmm... I should just work. Too much to do...
