“Becoming self-aware wouldn’t ever be something I’d wish upon my worst enemy,” I said, “because becoming self-aware means realizing, realizing how insignificant we really are, or how small our places in this universe are, or how you and your life is as every bit meaningless as the person who sat next to you on the bus or the last stranger to bump into you without so much as an ‘excuse me’ is. Even all those celebrities and history icons you learn about; how your teachers say they made such a difference, when in reality, they are every bit as pointless as everyone else who doesn’t make a stand for the things they want or fight for their ideals of ‘equality’. All those ancient inventors and presidents and the ones who stood and made a difference are dead. And the rest of us still desperately alive and trying to make a difference – we’re going to die. Even those future generations – they’ll die someday too. Nobody will be left to remember us. Everything has it’s time, and then, it doesn’t.
“Becoming self-aware is figuring out this harsh reality. And I wouldn’t wish reality on anyone because it’s safer to live in your safe little bubble of a life where you are too busy dealing with all your toys and insignificant problems to take the time and think and become aware of everyone and everything, and yourself. You busy yourself with trying to think about what you’ll have for dinner tomorrow night and the next and the next, or getting a job, or when you’ll have the time/money to fix your computer and other appliances, or dreading the next family meet-up at Christmas because everyone will be bombarding you with all the typical, stressful yet unavoidable questions like, ‘How’s school?’, ‘Have you found a stable job yet?’, ‘Have you found a boyfriend or girlfriend yet?’, ‘How are your grades?’, or just trying to cope with life and et cetera. But all these troubles that you think are the end of your world are simply distractions; preoccupying; comforting like blankets. And mothers.”
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