Do you know why I persist in demeaning myself, claiming to be insignificant? It is because I am angry. I have done things for people. Maybe not people who were in dire need, but people around me. I have contributed in the lives of family and friends. But my help is… I am… not appreciated. Sometimes I feel like a piece of furniture. Whoever I am, inside, seems to have so little meaning. And why would you thank a furniture? Its mere function is to function. Maybe I should stop functioning.

It is not that I haven’t given it any thought – to simply stop acting sane and release the emptiness inside – but I know that it will not matter. For people, if you remove sanity, all there is left is insanity. That is how easy we humans are supposed to be. We are not supposed to have intricacy inside us. The more complicated the world is becoming, the dumber are we. The more we are discovering what identities are, the more we are losing them.

The only comfort for me lies in the sanctity of my own mind; that I can retreat and hide inside my mind when the world is being careless. In my mind, the forbidden appreciation flourishes. In my mind, I am someone who means something. In my mind, people are so dependant on me that my disappearance would burden their lives. Because if you remove that sanity, all there is left is…