The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh. Let us not then speak ill of our generation, it is not any unhappier than its predecessors.
from Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett
Is it true that the world is at balance and that the same amount of laughing and crying has been going on for centuries, and that constant relocation of these has been the only changeable variable in this equation? Is it true that we are whining about our times like every single generation whined about theirs in their time calling the one that had been before the good old days? Well that makes every time the “good old days,” or time has always been like a butterfly’s journey towards the light with everybody standing and weeping on the hill of yesterday’s good old days, the path of today is almost empty, and the future is creating itself on its own. With so few people in the future lane, anybody can claim it as theirs and, beware, control the future.
Life is a roller coaster ride. One day you see your head towering over the skies, and the next you smite the very own ruins of your house you have saved every penny of your soul and built just to watch it get destroyed by that so-called fate. Who’s in charge of this roller coaster? Who built it in the first place? Who tumbled you down the rabbit’s hole to see all the wonders just to wake you up back in the same empty room you have snuffed loneliness from every single corner of which? Who turned this life into a big Disney Land where you can play and consume until you can play and consume no more, but you will have already brought youngsters to this life that will continue to play and consume.
The tears on my face are my own tears, which I poured into these poor eyes of mine with all the monstrosity of accepting the so-called fate and leaving my life in the hands of the roller-coaster builders. The smile in my eyes heralding the beginning of spring is always faced by a storm, which, if I survive, will see the first blossoms of spring. I can only fix this half-chocked sigh of relief or of sorrow for only I decide the course of tomorrow if I live today and I shall do it my own way. The smiles or tears are the same, but the people who seek the smiles and those who soak in tears are the ones who change over time. Let us be on the merry side and think of only today and leave tomorrow take care of tomorrow for the more we face this insane world with our teeth bleaching in the face of its gale, we can find each other and perhaps build another roller-coaster that has more ups and fewer downs and eventually share this world with everybody with a smile on our face and a pen ready in our hands to face the ones who try to bring the river of tears back, for with our ink and blood we will have built the dam.