What does freedom truly mean? Who can claim to be free? These questions puzzle my comprehensions. Consider a lighthouse, steadfast for centuries until it crumbles to dust. How is it different from the ocean? The ocean’s waves are confined to it, just as the air is tethered by Earth’s gravity, the Earth is trapped by the Sun’s pull, and the Sun is drawn to the Milky Way’s core.
What is reality? The past, the future, you, or me? Perhaps reality is the force that holds down whatever freedom we might have. How? I’m not sure. And beliefs? They baffle me. When people advise, “Believe in your true self,” I’m left wondering. Can I genuinely believe in a self that’s riddled with insecurities and confusion? Would you?
You might be scratching your head, wondering about the meaning of my words and purpose of this write up. I don’t blame you. These words are a reflection for me, not a guide for you. Yet, if you’ve come this far and choose to continue, I’ll share a story.
My father passed away around my daughter’s fifth birthday. Sometimes, it feels as he was a figment of my imaginations. His memories are already fading and they started dimming just after a few weeks of his death. My daughter, who came into existence a mere seven years ago, feels as if she’s been by my side forever. Life’s events often defy logic. From a baby’s inaugural breath to an elderly man’s last, the world is a puzzle.
But is there a need for everything to fit neatly? Pain and love are tangible, yet they’re subjective. Your pain, your love, they resonate only with you, not altering the fabric of another’s life. Your joys, sorrows, beginnings, and endings are exclusively yours. We each live within our own spheres, our realities and truths confined within. Bursting my bubble won’t reshape yours.
Now, about that story…