Customs educate and establish order. We make them convert us to a homogenous mass. A mass that takes care of keeping the power for its further existence. An apparent never-ending but pretty comfortable circle that pampers its followers with the good feeling of doing “the right thing.”
And so it is not surprising that I grew up with the assumption that the known is comfortable. I was a happy owner of a cunning weaker self – one that was a slacker full of existential fears and grueling doubts. Accordingly, I decided to put some comfy clothes on to guard me against meeting challenges that I might not survive unscathed.
Better safe than sorry!
By the time that all convincing voices fall silent, the convention’s content becomes an indistinct empty bubble — a place of emptiness, despair, and paleness. The unknown is infinite and infinity the lack of boundaries: Everything is possible, nothing is necessary.
When the time had come to make things right, I got up from the chair that I leisurely tethered myself to catch others fancy. A powerful moment in which there was still so much to say, but words failed me. A deep release – that I had made myself wait for too long.