Super Mario

It’s comforting to write in a blank paper. The feeling of no boundaries is taking over. This way I can overcome the illusion of being watched. It’s not clear why this particular idea disables me from writing, like I’m not doing anything wrong. However, the guilt sensation is implanted deep within my subconscious.  Still, the red line varies based on many factors, like being abroad. That’s why I rely on traveling to be inspired again. I don’t mean that Saudi Arabia has something against creativity. It’s probable that a negative atmosphere aborts the ideas from my little caring womb, I mean brain. Apparently, the practice of obstructive medicine is affecting me.

I’m trying to find a factor to blame for my recent flee. I’m not back to my optimal status, I’m just used to the new compromised condition. Living over the knife’s blade, where everything may collapse if I spill. To tell the truth, I just have been exposed, rashly, to the real world. Does it always have to be bad to be real? Does happy ending exist only in fairy tales? So, is it really stepping over a knife blade? I wish if life was just like a video game, were you die and restart from last saved point. Honestly, I deal with life in same manner. Yet, either I play easy mode or I’m an excellent player. I died only once.

I didn’t give up the idea of unreal world we live into. Yet, who’s punishing me? Also, is the guilt sensation a punishment oriented? I know that Adam and Eve action after eating the apple is feeling shamefaced for breaking divine order. I need to make it clear, that I deal with religion as folklore stories, as something lacks solid evidence. It’s nice to mention that the apple resembles the knowledge, or the insight. Thus, they figured out they were naked and started dressing. Why did they feel guilty in first place? Some psychiatric disorders based on the idea of being punished because of being loved by the punisher.

Anyway, as I’m afraid of the punishment, I have a glimmer thin thread of hope for forgiveness. Though, I’m not a sinner. It’s funny that last time I wrote, I asked for forgiveness and I do it here again. So, the feeling of fault is profound, why is that? Indeed, a part of it is due to my absence from my dear readers.   

In the end, I’m comfortable saying that I can stand and observe each sentence I wrote, as they hold a deep meaning and story beneath it. I wrote once in Arabic about being imprisoned inside a room. That room is surrounded by broken mirrors; all its four walls are composed of broken mirrors. I see my reflection for countless times, yet that’s a broken and disfigured image. I assume if that mirrors were intact, I would end up with paranoia personality disorder. However, I was broken. I hope I broke that handicap. I’m back, wiser probably, or more fool, more probable.