My thoughts have perhaps rendered me bemused at the expense of my ambition, every time I get tired from studying I can’t help but write my sentiments. I know that I really have too much yet to learn, and life is too young for me to demand of it the standards imposed by living the somewhat impossible. Then again I find myself paralyzed at the realization that maybe I have not done much to win the favor of my learning.
Distractions, at times, have made themselves rulers of my hours. I’d be stuck in the daydream of my emotions that I let the moments pass without turning them to reality, I told myself that I should read a good book. And I am, I’m reading Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott however it was a week ago since I last opened its pages. I paused my journey on the pages where Rowena in her Saxon beauty joined the company of Templars and their rather unusual demeanor.
Life is an accumulation of vanities, we always want people to see our happy state, yet we only reveal our pains to those we don’t want to impress. However at the triumph of our failures we regard those hopeless moments as trophies of our present, fleeting but present euphoria. I seriously don’t understand why we care so much about what others think about us more than what we think about ourselves. I guess, it’s easier to sacrifice what is not seen, but what is not seen will always inflict the greatest pain.
The mind is the battleground. And I think I’m winning against myself. So, am I winning at all?
P.S. I badly need a good storyline.