The story of I

I work, not because I enjoy, but because it gives me a sense of identity. It defines me when introductions are necessary. It provides for me a material sense of security about future, which to most of us are uncertain and unpredictable. I envy those who enjoy their work and are successful in their profession. I consider myself a loser because I have failed to reach that level of satisfaction. I miss the contentment and the sense of achievement of those who followed their dreams and lived through it without a sense of regret.

I also know that life is too short to live with regrets and fear. So, I try to forget the unfulfilled dreams, sometimes I blame it on my bad karma, becoming fatalistic at moments of uncertainty, finding solace in  the thoughts that there are worse things than not realizing a dream. I focus on the good things of my small universe, a good family, an o.k. health, and some good friends. I focus on the beautiful gift of nature that surrounds me in this small city called Imphal.

Overlooking the agony and sufferings of many people around me, I strive to survive by enjoying the beautiful things instead of harping on the sufference and evil deeds of mankind because I have very little to offer, except through my work, my public identity. In my own private domain, I survive like an inocent child who tries to enjoy each private moment in my own ways, because that's the only freedom I cherish when dreams remain mere dreams, when life remains mere process of living.