Drifts of thoughts

The inherent unfairness of life... I still don’t understand how there can even be one person wishing harm on another. This is not a question of naivety on my part, it is purely based on my inability to fathom how one could ever hurt another. Some people say that when you suffer greatly in your childhood, it can lead you to display urges for revenge through wicked actions later in life, but I don’t believe in this. It’s a mere excuse. And then I keep wondering: who was the first corrupted man on Earth? Someone must have turned bad and begun the vicious circle, which over time was bound to grow and take over the world.

Either you are human, or you are not; your actions speak for themselves, hence the belief I have that very few people out there qualify as humans. They are primates with human potential, but they are not yet true human beings. Perhaps they forgot to collect a conscience on the way out of the womb, who knows... It’s tough for me to see any sense in violence or planned harm on others, or even perverted actions ( be it murder, rape, war...), and I guess it’s not so different from comparing it to this: say one likes peppers but you don’t. Isn’t it hard for you to understand the appeal the other finds in peppers when the taste makes you heave?

I’ve never liked Voltaire - it always pained me to have to admit that he still wrote great things. I forever preferred Rousseau because when he wrote, whether he was right or not, you can tell his heart was in it. Reading him, especially his Confessions, feels like diving into his inner heart, because he wrote with it. Because all that matters is that you wrote with your heart. Knowing truly what you’re writing about... I don’t know. Maybe I just really know nothing.

Sometimes, I feel like facing people on a one to one basis, look into their eyes, and beyond words make them understand that life is about MORE than glorified titles we grant each other, or peer acceptance. It’s about Truth. Truth to the self, truth to the world...

I suppose it is that idealist core of mine working against me at times. I keep hanging on to that hope that people can change, somehow. That I’m seeing more than there is. That surely people can’t be that bad. Right. If I carried on in that line of thought, the world would really be a peaceful place, and murderers, liars and corrupted monsters for instance, would be a figment of the imagination, because surely people can’t be that bad. If the world were as I picture it or will it in my mind, it would be Utopia.

It isn’t.

And I have to learn to live with that reality.

And writing this makes me question, yet again, how comes I was born with such deluded hopes.
But delusions... are mindless people’s opium. My delusions are really about what ought to have been in a world worth living in.

I could not put it any other way.