Have you ever wanted something but was afraid if you wanted it hard enough it would not materialize?
I have become a skeptic.
It could be because of the multiple fails I have had with Inteco. The constant thrashing blindly in the dark. Maybe this is what happens when you grow older. The naivety of your younger days does not grow up with you. You now see things in logic, numbers. It must make sense in order for you to make an effort to hope. Maybe I am more aware of the world’s vices and they are a lot of it. Humanity seems to loose its effect as you grow older.
But, something happened. Something that has triggered a weak spark in me. Could it be it? Is the suffering, doubt and overall confusion worth something? Is there an actual direction to this madness or am I drunk man in a labyrinth oblivious of my circumstances? Am I able to peel of my skepticism and hope?
What does hope even feel like? Is it a swelling of the chest with a sensation too difficult to explain? Is it when you catch yourself daydreaming of an alternative present or near future to what you know now? Is it walking into a tunnel determined to find a light you are not sure is there? Is it having to get up every time when it is a lot easier to stay down for something you cannot share with others? Can we have collective hope or is it a personal journey? What does hope even taste like? Is is the first sip of freshly brewed coffee? Does it taste like whipped cream on moist cake? Is hope infectious or is it a personal disease one must carry at some point in their life? Can you be immune to hope?
I find hope a waste of time. I can spend all my resources and energy on hope. I could stare at a wall painting a picture of a “what if” world. A world my reality knows I will not live in. I find hope a self inflicted sadistic ritual. Why go through all that when you and I know that the bubble will burst and you will come crashing down again. Worse than if you never took off. Why bother with what you cannot touch or taste or even explain? Do we like to inflict pain on ourselves?
As much as I know I might get hurt if I hope I cannot help it. That little spark is growing. I am getting excited at my alternative life. How wonderful it always seems. Maybe, just maybe when my bubble bursts it will be a transition into my reality and not a cruel reminder hope is for the foolish.
Until next time