My Name Is Delusional, And I’m Not A Realist
Speaking from a personal dimension, I admit that, most of my life, I’ve been avoiding eye-contact with reality. I’ve spent half my days hanging around in the dreamy world, whether it’s fictional or self-created from the back of my head. And since starring at the wall for hours isn’t exactly a sign of normality, a lot of people probably think I’m either a dejected loner or a tedious lunatic. Of course this led me to nowhere fancy in life because let’s face it, I’d rather hang out with my fictional characters in my land of dreams rather than start a conversation with any of the people I know. And before I start writing any more confessions that might end me up with no friends at all, I’ll get to the point of my realization.
From my twenty years of experience in the imaginary world, I can precisely tell that reality is mean. It’s conspiring with the loathsome Karma against us, you guys! Why can’t we just live in literature? Or live disguised as TV show fictional characters, for instance? Or better yet, live and act upon life like fictional characters do. Authors and script writers create genuine real people that are nowhere to be found in this world. They say fiction reflects life experiences and reality. Well, no, it doesn’t; it creates a beautiful circle of occurrences that lead to an exquisite closure, or a negative emotional U-turn that still makes sense, or a mysteriously polished open end. At least it’s artistic, meanwhile we’re stuck in the middle of the unknown here, we can’t see past tomorrow, and we don’t even know why it’s that ugly.
Who can resist a world that its words run smoothly even for the darkest of personalities? It’s a world that makes sense when it’s twisty. It makes you fall in love with it even though it presents hundreds of reasons for you to hate it. A single word can sound earnest and cherished, listened. While in real life, you’re being welcomed into a world of walking disappointments called people, labeling you for being desperate and pitchy just because you want to relish your own company for a day. See? Way to encourage you to live, indeed. What’s epic in books turns into an epic fail in reality, what’s sensational in fiction seems cliché and sleazy when it’s dealing with real characters. They call people who can’t tell the difference between reality and fiction delusional psychotic weirdos. Well, if they can live in a world that is truly theirs, where they don’t get disappointed for a living, then in that case I don’t really mind being delusional.
