From this article, what will undoubtedly emerge is the utmost vulnerable depiction of my hurt, pain and anger. Today, I attended a social gathering where, for the first time, I presented my authentic self, stripped of any ego or intellectual facade. And I was hurt, deeply so. The concealed archetype of popular highschoolers, convictions about fundamental ideas, such as happiness, taken without reason and a pervasive hedonistic permissiveness – I empathise about mankind.
However, despite the factual nature of these observations, the primary truth still remains: I am wounded by the comments, the condescending laughter accompanied by pity. For I may soon face the reality of not establishing human connections ever, that I may suffer a demise similar to the Hermit of Sils-Maria.
Kindness, for us, is a matter of convenience. The virtue exists insofar as you encounter something or someone to whom we can easily extend kindness, but it wanes when faced with the incomprehensible and uncomfortable. Throughout my life, I have been the unappealing object of it’s non-use, and this time was no difference.
Anyone can be kind to homeless person, where kindness is expected, it’s what ‘one’ is suppose to do – in the eyes of the big Other. However, kindness to the incomprehensible, the ones who exists within the blurred boundaries of our understanding? True virtue.
Never have I felt the want to be more kind.
True creativity can only be understood, its greatness appreciated, retroactively. And the greatest creativity? Never at all. For the idea is so outlandish that it is impossible for the current cultural psyche to conceive of its existence, let alone its acceptance.
To Abhay – You’re my brother. To the other, who understands me, tries to otherwise.
I love you.
Humanity is not yet ready for me. I come too soon.
Something new is in the horizon. A beauty, a monstrosity, of which conception is impossible – even for me. But eventually it must come up. It will come up.