Memoir 2

2
Rows of chairs, the beat of the steps coming and going, loud and weak, rushing yet slow like a dying man.  Every corner is full of the whispers and noisy breaths of humans;  the more each of them think about it, the more disturbing it is, the aimless gazes always reflect ridiculous prejudices, emerges from a fleeting glimpse of a fleeting scene that just passes by at the corner of their eyes.  Ridiculous.  People certainly love to see the others;  pay attention to trivial details, guess a personality from the other person that matches their imaginary expectations, then compare it with their own subjectively flawless, naive personality.  Others are mirrors;  maybe, but they were more like muddy water with worms wriggling in them.
Hypocrisy swims in everyone's mouth here.  Everyone is the main character in his life;  thoughts that come out in speech or not are the scenarios they make for the drama they want to play themselves.  Hobbies, past, love affairs, domestic life, political views, social views, philosophical views on life, mottos, ideals, and some dreamy future prospects - they will constantly cover their naked and tasteless bodies with  flashy colored paint and a sprinkling of eye-catching flower petals.  Is there one of them who puts himself as the perpetrator - as a criminal figure who is seen as guilty by others?  A personal drama. It's just a melancholic mumbling roughly patched on the middle of a news article.
That's something that can't be changed.  Of course.  The one who wants to change it after all is just a hypocrite too.  And of course the same for me.  Maybe lower than others, I noticed, compared, and felt I stood taller.  Aware but still boasting.  Others become mirrors, and in my own head I sit in a circle of scribbled, blurry mirrors.  Desires want to fly up, but reality is still buried under the ground.  In the end, all these people did was jump around in illusion, waiting for those random, distracting glances to come their way.

2021/04/25