Horizon.

Horizon is beautiful
because it`s untouchable.......
It`s a sweet sadness that it carries along; an unfigured
passion, a complex pain, an unknown man....

A suicide letter

The rain was brutally colliding with the window. It was cold and gloomy inside the room and the man had no fear of death anymore; in fact, he had decided when this death should take place. He wasn`t anxious or sad. He had a fairly "empty" mood; no sympathy, no grief, no laughter. His eyes were almost motionless. He had prepared his final set of facilities; a rope, a chair and a sad stuffy room to finish a defective life. The only ornament that was hung on the wall had a picture of a scarecrow in a desert. Something was written beneath it so roughly,"Scarecrow looked back. Everything was burned, even the wheats. There was no more pretext, even to continue to be..." The rest of the room was merely a stereotype mixed with a lot of heaviness. He started to write a letter, a suicide letter, just to tell people how odd this world has become.

"It`s a continious and fierce process, a process in which humans become complex and conscious. First of all an individual starts to understand and reveal the reality of the world. The more he understands the bigger the gap becomes between himself and the people around him. He develops his ideas and beliefs which mostly are revolutionary and in common sense "Offensive".Then he starts to express those notions to people in order to make them aware towards life but the only consequence that follows is a swift rejection. Society simply rejects that person because he is annoying and truth revealing. This is the very first segment of becoming an intellectual human; Isolation and social alienation due to the profound beliefs of an individual."

He looked at the room once more. All things were quiet as they were listening to this life story. The scarecrow was still facing the horizon, gazing towards infinity;

"This rejection makes the person furious, thus he starts to use sarcasm, falsified arguments to humiliate the rejecters. In this sense, he becomes totally offensive because he finds himself telling the pure truth while the masses are still interested in the propaganda that they have been fed all their life long. Many people stick to this level for rest of their life, but some cross that, and reach the next level; virtual communication. The individual starts to replace the imaginary or lifeless entities with real humans. These things never respond, or dispute his notions, and are mere listeners. The person talks to himself or other objects, and companions them. Other people call this specific individual "mentally challenged" at this point. Why shouldn`t they? They never ponder what they say."

The words and statements were strong, but He was telling an upsetting scenario; his own life. His eyes became tearful. It was strange because it had been a long time since he felt like to cry, but the pain was so deep that brought up all those dark moments again.

"The last part of process and the most important one is when one figures that even those imaginations are defective and useless. Then he starts to realize the reason beyond all this pain and isolation; A unique reality, diversing in his desparate mind. He has the "perfect" in his mind, which he is not able to compromise with reality, therefore he finds himself completely separated form the world. That`s what I have been through. This long process has made me to be this way; isolated. I revealed the factual proposition that is the principle of my life; We do not belong. The actual reality sustains in our mind. We criticize a defective world while we have never seen the perfect as an assessment factor. We can not belong to this defective context In which Capitalism is destroying public`s mind by biased propaganda. History is alterable based on the advantages of the power. Certain level of people get to live in absolute luxury while others are kept under a certain economical limit. Social hierarchy does not convey any meaning anymore, and all values and moralities are defined based on the advantages of stronger party. Humans are isolated, and made to stay in their own solitude in order to be still productive for the economical monopoly. Powers have turned humans into machines that work, eat and cannot love anymore. People that are aware of these horrible sequential events are hammered, and kept under pressure so that they would not protest. The actual reality for the masses has changed; there is no standards of what humanity is, thus however it is being coped is necessarily a proper way with no doubt. Religious and non- religious totalitarianists have falsified the standards and primary assessments of life so they could justify their wicked actions, and the masses would not be able to recognize the flaws within the society. Reality is not objective anymore, yet it`s totally subjective and the powers will mould it for public; They obligate the way that world, God, love and humanity must be perceived. We do not belong to "That" world. Now I shall abandon this life in order to finish this process of intellectuality. This life has brought me nothing but fear, grief and a rough hope to a unknown future. No one is guilty in this action, no one but me and my lunatic thoughts."

The suicide letter was finished; the last ambiguous evidence of his life. He wished there was something to claw at, and not die. He collapsed, and tears came all the way down his cheeks, but the time had come. The reality was hitting in, showing ugly faces through that big hole of the rope. Harshness of the moment was outrageous, but the time had come.

He started to wrap the letter when something really strange happened to him. He started to dream about a vague childhood memory, a far image from past ; he was jumping up and down with his fellows in the middle of street, trying to make as much noise as possible, and then their mothers came down and tried to quiet them. Then another dream emerged; a dream of his first teenage love; the sight of a beautiful girl with her lax eyes. Then the image of the first time that he cried hardly because of a queer, irreversible pain. Those memories affected him in a really odd way. He thought that maybe humans live through their continuous memories. This was quite possible; refining our being by this overlap between past and present, between history and now. Maybe we are a bundle of all those experiences, or maybe we are supposed to drag all those memories with ourselves as our identity. He started to look around; everything was a part of him, all those objects, thoughts, memories, pains and laughters were part of him. He could not "not belong". He was extremely glued with this world and every single "being" within it. And yet, it felt comforting to belong. He unwrapped the letter, and on the back of the paper wrote with a different color; "We exist within our humanity, our love and compassion." It was such a big instant in his life, a tremendous realization, and an untouchable moment. He had found something that he was seeking all his life for; a pretext to be. He and his past was all he needed to exist. He was not finishing this process, but he was escaping from it. He wrote again, "Yet, I feel I am part of my memories, part of my past and a segment of my future. Yes, a future. We need to relate, we need to belong to something, And I found it in the very last moment of my life." He gathered all those dark memories, rejections, humiliations, but yet expressing something completely contrasting. " I feel belonged, and It feels beautiful. "

The house was surrounded with wind and rain. The man was looking down at the paper, and wondering How greatly this sense of belongingness reposed him. He went to bed, and never attempted to suicide again. Yet, He maintained that rope and chair for a long time to keep recalling him of that untouchable moment.
The weather was still dark and cold. The man was asleep, and He was dreaming of a future. That image of scarecrow was now just a poetic gesture, not the reality. He was beautiful now. He did belong.

It is sweet and fascinating when you are reaching something. That sense of uncertainty and wonder is beautiful, but once it becomes OBVIOUS, then it`s painful.