An Incoherent Piece

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So much has been written, so much has been given a thought; sometimes, more than a thought. Is all this thinking, writing, internal discussion going waste? There is bound to be some gap between thought and action, an acceptable gap though. Otherwise, what's stopping it from being termed as hypocrisy?

Is it the fear of being judged? Or is it the anticipated retaliation (or just a reaction) to the final outburst? Does this stem from the fact that people like being with those who constantly massage their ego? Does an instance of not 'massaging' so become an act of one not being true to oneself? Does the other person even know what is being 'true to oneself'? Does the other person even know the other one? Does he or for that matter, anyone know me? There is of course, an image, an impression rather. An impression of someone who is not that vehement, someone not so outspoken, someone who is a bit docile, someone whose actions can be anticipated, expected and controlled. And any deviation from these 'established' virtues does not go down well with anyone. It is absolutely annoying to think that one has become such a figure who is expected to be a certain way all the time. Some people have no problem being that way, maybe because they like the attention. The consequent downsides of such a position is taken by them to be just a necessary evil, something unavoidable. I can't do that.

I have these moments when I feel like breaking myself down piece by piece to the first particle of my existence and start afresh. Reconstruct myself, in short. But it seems too late to do this. I feel caught and trapped in a web which has no opening, no loose threads. Just and endless network of questions and regrets. And now I sound like a sad Disney Princess. Yuck. I feel terrible.

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