Why?

“All of us, in one or the other way, are mad.” -Paulo Coelho.

Why does everything in life have to make sense?

Why can’t we just sit and stare at the wall some times?

Why can’t we stare at strangers, just without a reason?

Why can’t we sit alone and have a cup of coffee, with ourself?

Why can’t we just scribble in anger sometimes?

Why can’t we stare at the beautiful sky full of stars at night?

Why can’t we feel sad, or why can’t we cry?

Why can’t we just not talk to anybody on some days?

I’ll tell you why, it isn’t happening OR doesn’t happen.

Since we were born, we’ve always been taught to do things in a framed manner.

A framed pattern which is set by the society, or for that matter.. Which has been running in the house since the past, maybe 100 years.

We’re given a set of rules, a set of procedures, to follow.

We’re told to wear a particular set of clothes. We’re told to sit in a given way. We’re told to be nice to people. We’re told to behave when we’re in public. We’re told to keep a distance from people because they belong to another religion, and not the same as ours. We’re told to choose a career that has a job that is monotonous, and not different. We’re told to listen to our elders, no matter what they say.

We’re TOLD. We’re just told. And we accept it. We accept it because people do the same, just go with the flow.

But, dead fish go with the flow.

What if we are all different? What if we want to do the exact opposite of everything that has been listed above? What if, we just don’t feel the same as others? What if we don’t like doing the stupid same old things that every other person does?

It’s okay. It makes sense, you see?

It makes sense because we’re not the same. We’re all born in different cultures, we have been brought up differently, and we’re just not the same.

So why is it so difficult for people to understand that some things like profession, eating, making friends, meeting strangers, travelling alone, spending time with yourself, sulking on some days, laughing so hard that you feel you’d die on some days, not wanting to wake up from bed, is all okay? Why does it have to make sense until it satisfies our soul?

I have always been asked the stupidest question, since I started writing and when I started increasing the number of posts on my blog:.

The question was/is:  “Are you sad? Your writings say that you’re sad. Why are you taking so much load in life?”

THINGS I WISH I COULD SAYY:

“1. SHUT UP.

2. I’m not sad, at all. Writing makes me happy.

3. It MAKES SENSE TO ME.

4. Don’t ask me a question about earning out of this. I’m damn sure I’ll stab you, right here.”

WHAT I ACTUALLY SAY : “I’m different, and I’m mad. Because I’m not you.”

Forget it. BE different, unique, and do anything that makes sense to you, which satisfies YOU.

The day you start understanding how everything that you do is weird but perfect, is the day when you’ve started to accept who you are.