When we’re young, the world belongs to us. There is nothing that lies beyond our reach. We’re immortal. We’re all – powerful. We’re the Gods of our own tiny realities.
Not for me. I’m too young for that. I want what I want. And there’s nothing you can say or do that’ll change that glorious certainty of youth.
It’s a phase. We all go through it.
But then, as we age, the world begins to assault us in all its cruel detail. We begin to notice the things that happen. And how they shouldn’t be happening. The perfect world we imagined begins to be streaked by grime. We’re troubled. But they worry lasts but a moment. As always, the young have no time to ponder on things that they cannot see for themselves.
And then we grow older. We learn, we learn how to understand the things that happen around us. The world isn’t as bright and carefree as it once used to be. In fact, if you took the time to look at it, the world is pretty damn fucked up.
And then, we decide, we can change it. We put away our worries, comforted by our convictions. The world won’t be so wrong, when we grow up and change it. Time flies.
We’re older now. We’re at the prime of our lives. We’ve learnt all we need to go out into that wide world and begin moving and shaking what we perceive as imperfections.
And the world bites back. We discover, to our dismay, that logic doesn’t apply in this tarnished, dirty mess we call life. People won’t change just because you explain to them the error of their ways. Righting the wrongs of the world becomes harder, because some people prefer being wrong. Not everyone has it in them to be good.
We’re hit hard by this realization. Until now, the challenges we’ve faced seem hard, but it always seemed like we could make a difference. We never considered the prospect that some people are content to stay in the dark. And though we don’t know it, some part of us begins to truly understand that there is evil in this world. We just don’t allow ourselves to fully see it. Lest we lose what separates us from it.
We try. We fail. We try harder, we might succeed.
But in the end, you realize that somewhere along the line, the flight became less about doing what was right, and more about doing what we had to, to survive. The world is rotting slowly. And we realize that in the end, we can’t make a difference.
The truth of how minuscule you are on the scale of things seeps in. And slowly, your need to champion the cause of good falls away. Your priorities have changed, without you even knowing it. You lost the fight a while back.
You just didn’t let yourself know it.
And then age begins to take you. The ocean of sorrow that the world is begins to weigh on you. You find it harder and harder to care. About anything. You might have a family, you might have children of your own.
But a long long time ago, it became less about what you want, and a lot more about what you were obligated to do.
You provide for those who depend on you. The rote of life becomes easier to bear. Soon it replaces whatever semblance of life you had before. And you know the worst part? The one which terrifies me?
You’re absolutely fine with it.
And life goes on. Day in and day out.
Until you die.
You spend your last days wondering if you ever stood a chance. In between the senility that has robbed you of the will to live, you think of the choices you might have made instead.
You regret the things you didn’t do. The roads you chose not to walk. The choices you made by refusing to choose.
And you die.
But not me. I’m not like the rest of you.
I’m going to live forever. Death shall never take me. For I am young. And the world lies in the palm of my hand.
I won’t make the same choices you did. I refuse to let myself make the same mistakes.
I will make a difference. Because, I am truly different.
I will change the world.
And I’d die before I let the world change me.