When I lose my freedom, I become sad, angry. Of course, my lack of freedom is just me not being able to go out with my friends. My lack of freedom is not being unable to have freedom of speech, being scared to go to school in the morning because maybe, just maybe, I could die. My lack of freedom is not real. It’s not what others may feel. It’s not being unable to dress however I want, love whoever I want, think and live however I want.
Sometimes I think about how they may feel, they, the people who can’t be themselves. Who have to lie. Actually, I think about this quite often. Maybe too often. I think about how we’re all not free. Trapped inside our heads thinking the same stuff, day to day… Nothing changes. Maybe, we’re all trapped inside the same routines, the ones that we have been living in for decades. Maybe we’re trapped here, in this world, and only after death will we know the meaning of freedom. And maybe, there’s nothing after death, and we have to feel freedom here, at least once in our lifetime. Maybe we came into existence just to become free. Maybe, some are free physically, some not, but we’ll feel free only if we break down those cages we’ve built within ourselves, the ones that we’ve declared as our home. And maybe, there’s no freedom. Maybe we’re all just prisoners, who will never understand the true meaning of the word FREE. And maybe, I’m just thinking too much about this again. I always think too much.