Why is there much ado about almost nothing?
Why are you sparing so many fucks for the inconsequential?
When did you start giving so many fucks? Sigh. I started giving a fuck when I started accumulating hate. I let hate fester in my heart, poison it. I only noticed it last night for the first time, when reading.
The book’s called The Five People You Meet In Heaven. It isn’t much by way of a book but I connected with it immediately because the character’s stuck up too. The story is about the five lessons he learns after he dies and has the chance in heaven to revisit five events from his life.
We keep all this hate inside us, often without realising it: hate towards the universe, hate towards what’s unfair; hate towards the unfulfilled, the unrequited and the unnoticed; hate towards ourselves and our choices – and to what end?
I found the piece that was missing from the jigsaw puzzle story that is my life. I never learnt to let go of things, only learnt to let them be. In a way, I’ve become the very things I detest so much. I wrap my head around the image of who I think I am so tight that I don’t realise the extent to which what I do is different from what I think.
I figuratively froze for a few minutes with the half read book between my fingers, realising that I’ve to forgive to forget, that I’m too hard on some things and some people, invariably making a hot mess of something perfectly simple. Over-thinking transforms into hateful behaviour fairly quickly if you aren’t aware of where to pull the brakes.
Words can only be benefitted from, when what you mean is what you say. If I’ve been wrong all along in choosing the meaning of my words, what the hell have I even been saying?