and the more they defended this unique right,
the more enslaved they seemed to be to their parents wishes,
to a marriage in which they had promised to stay with the other person for the rest of their lives,
to the bathroom scales, to their diet, to half-finished projects,
to lovers to whom they were incapable of saying No or It’s over,
to weekends when they were obliged to have lunch with people they didn’t even like.
Slaves to luxury, to the appearance of luxury, to the appearance of the appearance of luxury.
Slaves to a life they had not chosen, but which they had decided to live because someone
had managed to convince them that it was all for the best”
Yes, unnecessarily long as usual, perhaps to convince myself that I still control my life. And that I am still who I was before. And that nothing and no one, not even someone I love one, can dictate what I want to do, how I want to think and what I want to feel.
And that the few times I felt depressed or felt lonely or felt like crying and hugging myself — they happened because I let them happen. They do not really differ from the times I was happy and excited and really hyper — they too happened because I let them happen.
And that I have this freewill, this emotional remote control that can easily switch my feelings to sentimental mood when I get bored for always being happy and vice versa.
In that sense I am free. Yes, I guess I’m free. But am I?
because freedom continues to be the thing I prize most in the world.
Of course, this has led me to drink wines I did not like, to do things I should not have done and which I will not do again; it has left scars on my body and on my soul,
it has meant hurting certain people, although I have since asked their forgiveness,
when I realized that I could do absolutely anything except force another person
to follow me in my madness, in my lust for life. I don’t regret the painful times;
I bear my scars as if they were medals. I know that freedom has a high price,
as high as that of slavery; the only difference is that you pay with pleasure and a smile,
even when that smile is dimmed by tears”
Dimmed with tears. How can one be free and still be in tears? If I am free, then why would I choose to be sad? Why would I be bored with being happy and contented? And why would I choose to complicate my life? And must I complicate my life in order to feel both free and happy?
Too many questions. I am free to answer them and yet I feel I shouldn’t. Confrontation, especially with yourself is just too difficult. So instead, I freely choose another option… the option to not find the answer at all. But it’s been said that "truth shall set you free". Does that by exercising my freedom to not choose, I am enslaving myself by not knowing the truth? Will I forever be a captive?
Perhaps freedom is a double-edged sword. Either way one swings it, one will still get hurt and wounded. Especially if he is not strong enough. Because freedom is a heavy sword to carry. One can’t be too frail to handle it. One must be ready.
So when will I be ready? I wish I can tell you.
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