prologue

I believe there is not much chance left for a regular human being everyday. Almost all entities of this big piece of matter seem to revolve around a force greater than happy accidents. To simply say that motion and gravity is fate is an insult to the integrity of science and its authors. Therefore, I say that waking up, walking, yawning, and even the way breakfast is sided up in your hot pan is a choice left to that context that this nature has accepted over time.  We know birds because we understand them in the context of flying. And we know day because of the nights. But individual differences struck us in the way we interpret these understandings.  Some may say that birds fly because God made them so. Others may say that this is so because they were made with such hollow bones. While some may think of all these as rubbish and say that no matter what, anything with feathers and can fly is a bird.

I am getting to that unspoken lawsn where people choose to meet everyday. There is for instance a norm that prods a child to accept the brushing of teeth with an oddly-tasting-seemingly-not-like-food- and- therefore-shouldn’t-be-placed- in- the-mouth ”cream” understanding that it is supposed to be called TOOTHPASTE 3 years after. And why brush the teeth? He actually accepts the idea “whole heartedly”  after 6 years or so of paying high rents for a seat in a known dental school somewhere in the metropolis.  

So it wasn’t a chance of just noticing a set of white hard stuff in a person’s  mouth that shows whenever someone’s happy or something is funny. It wasn’t that.  First it was probably because of a tale about toothfairies repeatedly narrated before bedtime.  Second, that toothaches exist and a dentist actually happens. Third is the idea of school, of excellence, and then of an ambition-to help, to be somebody, and then as you grow older, to earn money.

So it seems like the system is deduction where the dreamer becomes the idea itself and the rest becoming to be immaterial. I fear to imagine it as some sort of a three-legged race where every one seems to be drawing their own finish lines without even knowing why. RUN. That was just the only idea that, for years, they have invested so greatly on-not because they had nothing to do, not even because they were made to, but maybe because they felt like they needed to. To belong. And to be able to dance in the world of ideas where every blur has a story to tell…to be part of that big prism of ideas in hopes of changing the story of man.

But it boils down to the same old thing. You wake up every day, scratch your head the same way, and eat breakfast. And every story written ends up basically with the same errors of tragedy. 

Every one has the greater power to be here-more than breathe, exist, and die. As long as there is a big difference between passion and ambition, values and theories,  and character and status- every one has the right.

So unless and until there is a choice of the race to run, you’ll end up lifting all things up to fate which society has always used as a fallback to justify its shortcomings. And for the rest of it, you’ll remain to be the unending prologue of a proud novel, assuming and wanting but never bought and realized.

And everyday, you’ll always wonder how you were ever able to make it through.