We spend our whole lives trying to arrive at certain understandings and realizations—intellectually. But before we truly feel them in our bones, something has to happen. We need to go through something. Often, we need to get hit with something heavy—something that cracks the illusion.
Today, something shifted. I suddenly realized how seriously we all take this Matrix game. We’ve become so absorbed in “doing life” that we’ve started living it like a performance. I catch myself taking things far too seriously. I’ve grown attached to a certain identity—a mask I wear. And I wonder… why?
The first time I noticed this was back in school. Since then, the insight revisits me again and again. Each time, it lasts only a few minutes—like a breeze that brushes my face and is gone. Why do I keep returning to complexity? Why don’t I let myself be simple? Why do I keep confusing myself—and others—with my attempts at small, abstract transformations?
Still, I feel proud that I can name this pattern without disappearing into it. At least I see it.
Sometimes, I find myself trying to control everything. I want to make sure that everyone important in my life thinks well of me. I want no bad opinions. I want everything to follow the “rules”—my rules. Sure, they’re not society’s rules, but they’re mine. Carefully constructed. Familiar. And if I follow them, maybe I’ll feel safe.
But that brings me to a deeper question: should I live in a way that simply feels “right” to me? What even is “right”? Is it the version of “right” that my father tried to teach me? Or the one my mother instilled in me? They are my parents, after all. Their voices still echo in me.
Or should I follow the “right” that I feel internally? But what if that keeps changing? What if some of these “rights” are outdated and no longer serve me—but I still cling to them out of loyalty or fear?
Maybe the real “right” thing is this: to understand that life isn’t about right or wrong. It just is. It’s a mosaic of contradictions. It holds love and hate, joy and pain, loss and victory, laughter and tears. And love, too—always love.
Maybe the goal isn’t to win the game or perfect the performance. Maybe it’s just to live it—honestly.
