Seeds of Hatred

Slipping away.
Everything is possible, everything exists.
Chance is the culprit of fate.
I'm scared, scared, scared.
It feels like staring at something horrible happening, it is there in front of you, but you can't act. You're frozen because it can happen, because if it happens here and now, it might happen again. And it might have happened many times in the past.
You may act, you may try to change the outcome, but how can you make sure it will never happen again? How can you make it right for all the past recurrences?

The most sensible thing to do is try. Try to do the right thing. Try to improve the situation.
But I feel like I'm trying to empty a lake with a spoon.
What difference will it make? Even in our success, we fool ourselves into thinking that we are doing good, that we are enough. There is so much suffering that we can't prevent.
Again, the sensible thing to do is focus on what you can perceivably control. But that would make us numb to the things we cannot see. Lift the burden of responsibility from our shoulders, wishfully thinking that someone else will take it.
Out of sight, out of mind.
The central dilemma remains the same: do we enjoy the outcome or the journey?
As enjoying the experience of doing good, may have nothing to do with doing good.
If the illusion of feeling proud with ourselves for our actions is enough, the end result may lose its grip on reality due to convenience.

Discerning truth from fiction is at the core of the quest of building a better world. But how can we do so when we can't trust our own judgement?
When we recognize that the assumptions that built our own character are fundamentally flawed?
How can we start something anew when we are deeply intertwined on everything that happened before?

A cycle repeating, a domino effect, an inescapable chain of events that injects us with inertia.

The story went wrong, the future crystallized many moons past, and we are here staring at fate unfold.

This is a call for resignation. A society that denies its own stagnation.
The wake up call is long due. The hourglass is empty.
We reap what we sow, seeds of hatred.