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My self-imposed sabbatical has reached a point where I feel completely brain-dead. I try to contemplate once again about some mystery of the world, but I find myself inadvertently retrospecting about the days when I used to spend endless hours marvelling at a sentence I would read in a book. Now, nothing I read or hear stimulates me enough.

Is it because I may have become tolerant, and that I need a stronger stimulant to bring in the same effect? Or is it because I have mentally exhausted myself? Or is it because I am subconsciously trying to push away any form of stimulation because I do not want to revert to a state of brooding contemplation? Perhaps, it is simply because a mind doesn't really work in isolation...

My journey from a hyperactive mind running ahead of time, to one that is frozen in a timeless spell, was a gradual one. It took certain disappoinments, ineffectual attempts at trying to modify and justify what I witnessed to comply with my beliefs, a rebellion against the schism between what I had idealised and what actually is. Perhaps, the journey hasn't quite reached its end. Perhaps, this quiscence is really an immature defense against something that I can't overtly fight. But perhaps, in this miscontrued revenge, I am really harming myself. But to not do that would be a compromise. Perhaps, I chose misleading mentors who, under the facade of nihilism, really upheld an idealism too idealistic for reality, too psychotic for psychosis itself.

It's marvelous how we perceive everything around us. More marvelous is how our perception evolves. Yet more marvelous is how our identity also changes with our perceptions. Perhaps, I am at a stage in life where I am still trying to find myself. I try to tell myself that perhaps, at a later stage everyone reaches an equilibrium... but does it really happen? Are we not always evolving? Does anyone really know who they are or what their reality is? Like Benjamin Franklin said '... the older I grow, the more apt I am to doubt my own judgment...'

So I sit here, although not old enough, and doubt everything that I have experienced and known, felt and believed... I sit here, beholder to a change, personal but with an undeniable universal impact, and try to fathom what really is and has been my reality?

I know I will never have all the answers. I know that I will continue to alternate between my experience of life as reality and an illusion. I also know that if I stop or if I finally understand what I am chasing, I will have no reason left to live...

So here's to this journey called life... that has no one truth to it, no one consolidate reality, and never an end...