I expected a drastic change after spending time at that place, but all I felt was complete boredom. My return home was met with happy greetings and a welcome as though I had been gone for decades, even though it was just a brief span of two months. I was nostalgic as I beheld my home. The rather primitive bungalow, with the hedged fence and a small garden around it, held a lot of memories for me. The bleached walls reminded me of childhood games played in loneliness as there was none other to play with; I always wondered why I never had any friends; my parents didn't like the idea of my going out to play as they were afraid it would lead me down the wrong path under the influence of bad friends. But did that make me a better person? Probably not, but still, at least I didn't grow up addicted to drugs or alcohol. But now that I think about it, the probability of that happening to me in that neighborhood is next to zero. Well, that's a story for another day.
So back to my return. You see, I just came back from a place humans call college, but I see it has the manifestation and crystallization of human knowledge presented in a teaching form within the walls of a building.
So as I beheld the whitewashed walls, my long-lost memories returned to me. My sole reason for living in this accursed world is the source of my hatred towards other beings. My recent departure made me lose myself in a dream. My feelings were lost to me, but now I know why. Why what? Well, why do I hate those whose blood flows through my veins and whose impudicity runs deep in their bones? Though I show apparent displeasure with my existence as a whole, I would reserve my comments for a later date. The longer I stayed at home, the more things were being revealed to me, which before my departure seemed like the norm but now depicts the imperfect nature of people to such an extent that it made me yearn for that hellhole where our only solace was the knowledge that we all endured it together. The extremities of home made such a place seem mildly pleasant.
Though the experience of home was rather monotonous, I shouldn't be one to complain about it, but that is all in the past. The visit lasted only a fleeting breath before my return to my entrapment, in which I dwell with fellow comrades. We each perform our own function as such in a community, but the activities have only become more grueling, further heightened by the short peak at freedom, which shows an insight into the state we're in, but there's always a silver lining in every dark cloud. Well, unfortunately, there is none visible to me at this point in time, so all there is to do is continue in this despondent situation.
A better question to ask myself is: Why do I pass my problems on to innocent bystanders? The truth might be simpler than anticipated; it is simply to give a release to those grieving souls sharing the same sentiment.
So the time of retirement approaches steadily as the inspiration that brought this about fades away to an obscure past and I continue to remain nameless in spite of my adversaries, because I believe that I don't have the skill of describing events properly but rather bring up a rough, sudden flash of inspiration into writing. Retreating at this point seems appropriate; such a note is with which I withdraw.