"We are all in both 'worlds', the inner and the outer, simultaneously. Yes, the dominance of each form of experience waxes and wanes according to the degree of self-consciousness we feel. The permanently self-conscious type is closer to the artistic temperament, never able to silence the inner critic. The life-in-the-fast-lane man of action who is absorbed by some challenging activity or adventure, so-called flow states, is hardly ever self-conscious; he does not experience the problem that some philosophers have labelled 'individuation', or simply the awareness of being alone and beyond anyone else's needs.
There's nothing fixed about a human personality. That you might, by exercising your will, make yourself into nearly anything. You need to fashion a mask, one which would fit."
I have been living a lie, I chose to make live a dream. And I've mentioned I am a chameleon character is because I can will myself into nearly anything I want to be. I am a mask, what's the face under the mask?
Like what the above has mentioned, we are in both 'worlds' simultaneously. It may portray me as shunning from reality, unwilling to be realistic, but not many would be able to understand that I do, this would explain the tendency of massive mood swings. To go easy on myself, I'd rather be dreaming and make myself believe things I would choose to; to some extent hallucination may even occur. It may be a temporary relief and it may proved to be futile and fatal once reality hits in, but short span moments of joy and happiness are all I am chasing.
It is believed and propagated that each is responsible for his own happiness. Ironically, I often find myself seeking comfort in things and individuals which are potentionally vital to myself. (Note that "vital" is an ambiguity). I strongly feel that matters which are happening around us, are beyond our control, as long as another party is involved. It's a shame for those who keeps harbouring the thought that they can 'indeed' control their own destinies and contrarily blame it if along the way some part of them got screwed up. I've said a thousand times to myself, when one party is ever ready to give, and no one wants to receive, I would end up being intertangled by my own strings of one sided emotions, and alas, suffocate and breathe my last.
I guess that leaves us with only doodling to do.
The power of dreaming - you seem more real as compared to what you are in reality. I had managed to successfully converse with everyone in my other world. Everyone's hospitable, everyone's pure at heart and I need not have to worry abit about being hurt, for in it, everyone's loving me unconditionally. It's a happy world. If everyone feels more real in this world, why is reality presumed to be the real one when everyone feels nothing more than circus clowns?
The reason why I feel that no one can fathom me, is that I've realised I am a mosaic myself. As for how many pictures I have within this mosaic, I have yet found out. They say when you grow older, you would understand yourself better. To differ, a sand of myself slips away though the gap of my fingers every day. I've had a grasp of myself when I was younger. Though I had nothing, it felt as if I have everything.
I happen to be someone quite similar to Yukio Mishima. Though I don't consider myself as obsessed with death as he is, we share identical peculiar traits and thoughts. His passion resides in poetry, martial arts, and literature works. Likewise, my passion has always been with the arts. Have you ever been to an art gallery and instead of appreciating those works, you look at the back of the heads of those white collared people? You should do it if you haven't done so. Mishima has acrophobia, but I love being in high places. You'd feel light, and so free, as though there isn't anyone who would be able to chase you, who'd be able to hold you down, let alone shatter you. Fishes are therapeutic, so are polars in my opinions. To really commemorate my departure from this existing world where my body resides, I would love to spend a day in my black dress, sitting and watching them all day.
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A maple leaf glissaded beautifully in the breeze and came to a halt when it gently fell on the ground. The birds had sung their last harmony and are gathered up in flocks, ready for a migration. Autumn has come to an eventuality and Winter is slowly making its way in. As I stood alone against the world outside, there was another world within. A loveless world in which no one could ever exists - there will not be pain.
Just like a snowflake on a red hot stove, distinctly alluring however shortlived.
