No man is an island. What happens to one, happens to us all, for we all share the same instance of time. The universal clock keeps ticking endlessly in its insane foray into the unmarked and unknown infinity.
We are but the elements of time; each of us given a slice of time. A very small slice of time, to make our grand entry, leave our mark, and go away quietly, when our time is up. And all that remains are those marks that we made - those scars, which will remain forever, for history to remember, and all is lost in the fiery tempest of time.
It is of our volition to play our part well before the exit beckons on to us. We do not move towards this portal of doom; rather, it approaches us mercilessly. And we are left with a few intense moments to gather what we can and sow the seeds for the hereafter. And as we sow, so shall we reap...
My past stands behind me as great exclamation mark. My present is a pathetic full stop and my future stands before me as a great question mark.
The past clings on to me. I cannot change reality. I cannot change the past. But the past is the reality, and everything else is just a mirage, a fiction of thought. I cannot undo what has been done. But the past is my teacher; I learn from my past. Through the years, I have made and lost the greatest of friends. The happy-go-lucky days when I was poisoned by the joy of friendship. Up till the day it dawned on me that this joy was an illusion, another fiction of thought that had buried its nasty fangs in the flesh of my heart, as a permanent record in the diary of my past - something that I shall remember till I die. Yes, the past clings on to me.
My present is another story. It is also the author of my past. And as the sands of time continue to fall in this hourglass that we call life, I pause to ponder “what have I done”? Where do I go, and what shall be my future?
But wait, what is this force that pulls me together and keeps me going? That strong, unknown force that joins me up to my integral self from the pieces that I’ve been torn into? That, I realize, is the spirit of independence. The independence of thought, a skill that my rivals had failed to acquire. The art of free-thinking: the thoughts of man being his own, not what’s on the mind of those around him. Gossip and grapevine everywhere, people have relied for years on the views of their fellow mates and blindly accepted them as their own. In that, they had underestimated the power of one. The power of one mind - their own mind, to be more precise.
And only then did I realize the possibility to explore the reality of dreams, and to make these dreams my master, to make goals out of my wildest imagination, and to navigate through seas of knowledge. To see the world in a portal as diminutive as a grain of sand, to travel distant lands; my own imagination waiting there for me.
A journey, a pilgrimage to that sanctuary where I am the navigator of my own thoughts, the controller of my own speech. I do not desire fame or glory. And I never desired love… All I ever wanted to do was to leave that mark, that humble mark in the pages of history, before my time was up, before the clock ticked to my exit from this world of illusions.
I have a dream. Of a world where truth and goodwill prevails. Of a world that is not blinded by the darkness of ignorance. Of a world where each person has his own free view, not poisoned by the selfish views of others. Yes, I have a dream.
And the universal clock continues to take its unforgiving sweep towards the next minute in its journey towards the end of time...