Lost in translation

I woke up with a realization today, that people are mostly living in lies and self delusion. Of course I didn’t just go to bed last night and woke up with a sudden light in my head, but I have been thinking about this for quite some time. Just didn’t know how to put my thoughts into words.

Few years ago I studied a literature prose that mentioned about a man who found a place he loved and decided to end his life at sixty. I don’t remember if he had died exactly at sixty or not, but he died peacefully overlooking an island; the place he loved most. It was all he ever wanted. He worked and saved enough just to live until sixty, went to the only place he loved and spent the rest of his lifetime there. To him, being able to pass his time there was the only thing that mattered. I am sure many of you know about this story; remind me of the title though.

I never understood entirely the idea of this literature. Is it about a man who had decided to avoid all clamors in life? And figured it would be best to lead a simple life thus tried to end his own life at sixty when he was fated to be alive? Sometimes I wonder if the author had deliberately forgotten to write down that he had also lost his mind.

I mean, would any of you, at any point in life, give up everything, to pursuit just one thing, that you have always wanted?

I just have the impression that the man in the story never grew up. Perhaps it was a clue to this marvelous prose. Most of us chase ourselves in pursuing a better life, better fortune, better cars, better husband, better career. While we race ourselves to fit in the community, in other words to be ahead, to be famous, to be known, to be somebody; the man in the story only wanted to be happy.

I have read once, that rising to fame is mostly a matter of luck; or misunderstanding; and that there is not much difference between genius and mediocrity. It is a pity that the majority cannot transcend their own self delusions and return to ordinary aspirations.

I believe sometimes god withdraws something from me, so I can remind myself that nothing is permanent. Then I try not to let too much go into my head. However, I guess I will never have the courage of the man in the story to escape to an island, just like that. Often I start to dabble in minor issues, and then I make noises and fury so I can be heard at home, in school, abroad. And I delude myself into thinking that I am actually somebody.

Truth is, without ordinary aspirations, I am nobody.

Nobody at all.