From A Single Shard to Other

Why do we like to read?

Why do we like to write?

The question roams in my mind a lot. It has a simple answer really. We, the modern day children are seekers. We seek, excitement. We seek people who have same interests as us. We seek the people, that does not weird us out, and the people whom we don’t creep out. We seek a place of belonging. We seek approval, and you might deny this in your mind like “pffft. İ don’t give a shilling” but you know it yourself, you do, and that’s okay cause we all do seek approval of the opinions we value. We watch horror movies, to feel the fear and excitement. And we watch comedies and talk shows to laugh. The ones who want to live something different plays games and the ones who want a bit more than that goes after extreme sports, like bungee jumping and so forth. In the core, we all doing this for same thing really.

To feel...Something.

Doesn’t it get you? Our current world, feels rather a little numb. The relations we have, carries a wall in between, where what is said and what is meant is not really the same, we feel no remorse for the things we do every day. And we no longer feel heartaches about all the disasters going on in the world after the first moment we hear them. Maybe it’s me I actually don’t know what’s going on in your mind. But when I look at people, I see numbness. I see an army of people, seeking to feel something through, books, movies, games, extreme sports or else. But truth is when you try to reach them out, your hand can only touch to their walls or the masks they wear, but whatever you to you cannot reach to touch their real selves. They don’t let you, and most cases you don’t want to either.

I think this might be the reason I want to write.  I sort of feel my feelings are like stuck in some place, like the treasure in the Halls of Dwarves in The Lonely Mountains (Hobbit reference woo hooo), laying still under a sleeping dragon. And somewhat feels hard to reach sometimes. I kind of find myself feeling nothing in absurd states, unable to feel sad or happy. And in other circumstances I feel the flow of emotions. Did you ever cried when a character in a novel died? Even more than when you receive the death news of someone you know? Then you would get me I guess. I like to read, to create bonds with stories, people and with all the world of emotions depicted in the story...to become part of it.

And I think I like to write, because I want to create the same. To create a bond with people.

To touch people’s hearts.

And let them touch mine.

We are broken shards of the same whole, shapes might be different. Imagine a giant crystal ball floating in a time and space, perfect in shape and colour... and then shatter it in your mind. Let the millions of shapes of small and big, floating around where once the unity of the crystal body stand. That is us. And among those shards, no piece is broken the same way as another. But we all try to find the fitting pieces around us. To feel somewhat whole. Some, might be too sharp for you to get close. But out there even the sharpest, has a matching piece to complete itself.  Like playing a puzzle you know. The pieces standing right beside you in your current life, might not be the right piece to fit, doesn’t mean they are wrong people themselves, they’re just not the right fit for you.

I think this is the main reason we are in constant search of things to make us feel. The missing pieces in a sense. Temporarily can be filled by entertainment of books and movies and all but seek in general, is for the sake of finding the missing pieces, among the people who serve them to us.

I simply wanted to remind you. That somewhere out there you have those shards, the puzzle pieces that will match your existence, add a tad of satisfaction in your life, the feeling of becoming more completed than before. Some already found, some believe they don’t have it but they really do. I also, might not be the right one for you to read, and that’s okay, that means I am not the fitting piece for your life frame. And that is ought to happen with some. As those ones will have something else to fit in exactly the hole of the puzzle, that I could not. But maybe I will be a tiny piece to add on someone else’s puzzle. You know, Why not? Ever heard of human existence being cumulative?

Back in university, during one of my elective courses I came up to an essay, I won’t bore you with the source this is no academic essay but it was this tiny part that I somewhat found relative to all about life.

“Human culture is clearly cumulative, with innovations being built upon the knowledge of previous generations and ideas from different disciplines and populations combined to for-malate new traditions and technologies.”

We grow by the addition of one another. The small, the big the size of the contribution does not matter. All the bits will carry on to the next person who will make something bigger out of it. You take the timeline of yours and add something to pass it over to next. You are contributing to this, sometimes when you don’t even know of it. And doesn’t matter what you add or how big you add. You are one more than you are yesterday, and one less that you will be tomorrow.

So, who knows what İ will add into your life? And you add into mine?

Possibly, not just princess and dragon stories, and cookie recipes but a single more piece towards the completion of our own life mosaics.

Or I can be that entertainment object as I mentioned. Both works I guess?