I woke up on a fair-weathered day feeling happy about last night when suddenly I was tugged back to my usual habit of ostracizing the world and something was realized; nothing makes sense. I realized that I always try to keep up with life and not by following what I want. It pretty much frightened me more than all the horror movies I watched put together. How I love and hate my over analytical personality.

Now, here I am typing.

I write about what I thought things should work. Here, by the pressure-free confines of time, where words can be thrown freely, is  proof read by reinspecting and ensured by the ‘backspace’ button. I guess even though I know better, there is always this naked surrender that tells me it’s alright to spoil yourself once in a while, I’ll just stop when I get tired.

I don’t really have a point; rather, this is my attempt of understanding these general curiosities about life.  How spontaneous our universe works, how our minds tend to touch even the deepest, unbridled mysteries ever asked.

It’s like being back to the same classroom, the room where we argued about whether robots can take over humans. I was assigned to be the leader of the agreeing end. I debated them with colorful banters about how numerous brains of scientist were combined to create one artificial intelligence , and how the process argues its way to leave no doubt that robots can in fact, be better than humans. Of course, I was assigned to think that way. Thinking of what I said that day gave me this feeling of embarrassment to myself and everyone else. We won, I’m ashamed.  Ashamed to think mere bundles of electricity and by-product of human-playing-God people can replicate how we feel, the way we suffer, how we think, the way we act, much more,  be better than us. Yes, ‘better’ to each one’s opinion.

Too much thinking is like an inward explosion, it damages someone in largest proportions imaginable,

Although, I must admit, there’s pleasure.