Counting a little of what’s that left

In these momentous times, it’s easy to get off track and supposedly, to some, this is an ideal state to exist in. If so, how can we ignore the horrible screams, dense tears and sinking hearts around us? As each day goes by, thousands die for no crime; thousands sleep with an empty stomach; thousands wander in a ‘homeless’ world – and here are we, living blissfully.

What do we worry so much for? I take care of my scarred skin these days a lot. Many of us are only concerned about how to woo the opposite sex, and that’s how mostly our life drifts by. For us, this is an act commanded by the innate instinct – common to almost every other living creature on this planet. For a teenager like me, this is everything – Making money, marrying a good looking girl and then enjoying the presence of children. Today, I thought about this ‘instinctive’ goal and the conclusion ended up tying me in a question; is it a goal worthy of my existence?

Reflecting a little on my past, I noticed that whatever I’ve dreamed about hasn’t taken shape. Nothing. Most recent example in case is the dream of attending a college this year – and I haven’t been able to. As most of my friends drift off towards their new life, my life is static and stingy. All at the same, something which really amazes me is the undying motivation and desire that burns inside my brain – without the permission of my conscience. It’s almost like someone else is controlling me, and pushing me on. However, do you think this is weird? Or an idea too deep? Not at all. It’s the instinct that plays a role here.

So coming to the point, can we really make our own instinctive ideals, dreams etc.? Yes, we can. To everyone out there reading my post, let this be known, your instinct should be to be nice towards everything that you see around yourself, even if it is danger that can be done wrong by your acts. Live like someone who doesn’t nose into matters without someone else’s permission but at the same time is cautious, only to protect others from coming to harm. What’s so hard in developing this as our instinct?

I now feel that the books that lay across my bed need my attention, and it would be unfair to leave them isolated in this beautiful, cold weather. Unsatisfied as I see myself about to publish a post with conclusion scrambled poorly, I seek your mercy. However, despite being unsatisfied, I feel good for three reasons

  1. I’m used to failing.
  2. I think I’m moving towards the right direction towards developing a right instinct.
  3. My writing skills are slowly improving, nonetheless.

Here’s to a wish that sees everybody happy in this world!