An Untitled Reflection
Presented On: 13/05/2021
Using Descriptive Language
What is this world we live in? A severely cruel and sinister place contrasted by the lush beauty and raw power of nature. What is it about this world, that makes it unbearable but also desirable? It’s not a matter of what but a matter of who. Who is that person looking back at you in the mirror? Who is he? What is her story? What do they want? Is their world as cruel as ours? Or is it better? Why is it that we surround ourselves with tranquillity but get used like a tissue. We get used, broken and destroyed. They discard you like the garbage, making you feel just the same. What is going to save them? What is going to save you?
Will your good looks, or your brains help you? Or is it daddy’s money? What is the cruel world we live in? Do we even matter? Money can be gone in a second, and those you surrounded yourself will begin to disappear because of the lack of paper. Falsehood, fairy tales ... it’s where we want to live, not where we are. Who can we rely on? Look in the mirror and see if they can help you. If you can depend on them. Can you stand on your own? After all the masks and fabrication are dissolved, who is beside you? You’re all alone... are you even worth a damn thing?
Get off your high horse, and stop thinking you’re someone special. Because you’re not. You’re not worth a damn thing, not to them anyway. You think you are better, you are superior, but if you get cut ... do you not bleed? Is the blood not red? What makes you so different? Say what you want to them, do what you can for them, brown nose them for all you want, it’s not going to change a thing. We come from nothing, we leave with nothing. So those who prance around, showing off their wealth and the wonders of family trust, it will not last forever. And the sooner you sit down and realize that, the softer the ass-whooping will be.
What’s the point of it all? We live in a world where those who lie, cheat, steal and suck up can prosper. But those who are honest, who work hard, don’t see nearly as good of a reward as the former. What’s the point of being nice? What’s the point of giving credit and helping out, when it’s going to get you nothing? Who is it benefitting? Is it him in the mirror? Staring back at you, wondering to yourself, what is it like to live in his world.
There are times he plays out scenarios in his head, which fills him with such hatred ... with such anger. Scenarios he knows will never happen. And for what reason? Yet through it all he will still help out, still give a hand. Give credit, where credit is due. But for what? Why is he like that? All that happens is that he ends up getting hurt. But no matter how hard he tries to be cold and heartless, he cannot. But yet he has to force himself to cry at those funerals for those close to him. Because he didn’t have the time to spend with them? Because they’re gone? Why force it? He’s cold and heartless right? He cannot shed a tear for someone who was blood. So why does it hurt? Why does it pain him to be what he wants to be? But he hates it. He hates feeling this burning sensation of anger and resentment. He hates that about himself. And for what reason?
He hasn’t given up in any time of adversity. He hasn’t laid down his arms during any war. But why the hatred and anger? Why the frustration? It’s because he’s tired. He’s tired of fighting. Why can’t he just go on autopilot and let things play out and have them play out well? He doesn’t want to fight anymore. He hasn’t given up ... he’s just done with it all. He’s done with pleasing everyone. He’s done with trying to help others when he knows the favour will not be returned. He knows it’s a losing battle, but yet he fights on.
So, when he comes home, looking at what he has done, looking at the world he’s in. What more can he do? What more can he say? He sits on his bed, and lets out a cathartic sigh. The tears roll down his face. What’s the point of it all? He gets up with a sniff, shoulders hunched ... looking like a broken man. He walks to the bathroom, turns on the tap, and washes his face. He drapes the towel, wiping away all the tears, and anguish of the day. He sighs and looks up. He sees me staring back at him. He wonders to himself ... what is it like to live in my world?