22 2 / 2013

I am a ritualist. Or you could call me compulsive. I prefer the former. Every morning I arise, I make it a custom to look outside my window. With my window, I see the world. Well, at least the world I reside in. Through the window, I see myself. The odd definition of myself is the definition other people bestow upon me. I tend to always be a messenger for people. People make me a transaction cost. Oh, the rationalization of my fellow friends. 

They call me the middleman. I don’t understand––still to this day––why I am always enveloped in the dealings of others.