On a hunt to fathom who I am, I failed. Till a friend asked me what I like and dislike, and then began a chain of thoughts that starting the process of understanding myself. Of course, the process did not culminate into a fruitful saga, but it did bring out something. 

It is no mystery, because what I am is a mystery. I like solitude and mountains, birds and poetry, beauty and the beast too. For life looks like a deep slumber to me whence I wake up to myriad illusions of life every day. I stay lost in thoughts and wonder what people have to chatter so much about, when they say that the whole world resides inside of us. I blame myself for having stood gaping as life went by, but did I really miss something. Every day is new that brings a new set of fancies and the day I start on the common tangent with the world I will suffice. Because I will know what happened that day. Not that history eludes me, it mystifies and pulls my soul with a longing to know what happened. What were the thoughts and expressions of people who did what they did so well that we are paying to learn of their lives? Miserable & wretched, princely and pure, whatever it may have concealed is now out to the prying eyes of us who judge them and learn and repeat what those books tell us. How do you know a certain king enjoyed the company of young boys, how do you know if the warrior princess wasn’t a sheep at heart. No you don’t and yet you proclaim to know it all and shout it out to prove your point. Thy noble actions is but a reflection of the world we live in; thou has to speak and shout to hold one’s ground. Fairy tale or a dramatic keep, every story is a story that is made up by its reader.