The Perfect Stranger

All of a sudden I was being forsaken and was being termed as a "Stranger" and I had to adapt my emotions to the realm of agonizing volatility. Though I was not that kind of person who took any offenses so seriously, this part too didn't matter much to me. I was telling to my colleague the other day that "While I was a kid, I was Innocently Insane, but now, I have grown Intentionally Insane". I do not know how did I become so bizarre and freakoholic, but all I know is, I am proud of being a jerk at times. It may irk few people, but one of the person very close to my heart said to me, "All of us have to be proud of our imperfections. God has surely made someone who fills in your loopholes and stop you from being one of the other holes (the latter part of holes was my frickin' addition though)!

It was a very perfect situation where I proved myself to be what I was. I never did regret to accept the fact that I'd freak out and go verbally dead when someone cried in front of me, because I do not have that bestowal to wet my eyes when I am sad, and i can't see someone who does it either. I tried to use my literary skills in place where it was never called for. I didn't make sense while I spoke, but ultimately I tried to unlock the face that was sealed off without a smile and that which hadn't taken a nibbling for hours together.

I am not a brother to anyone by birth except my own sister and cousins, but when it comes to relations that we choose to love, live and breathe, we always tend to take chances. Blood relations are all got to us by default and we got to live with them even if they suck; but the brotherhood we build outside the family tree, always has a base of few very strong emotions; like faith & trust, truth & honesty. I was lucky enough to find all of it in most of them. Not to mention, my sister gave me a certificate that I was the "World's Greatest Brother" of all times and that is the only thing I love to flaunt about (not even my MBA certificate was given with that much love)! At the end of life, we all will remember the day, not when we were born, but the days that we were alive and celebrated our birthdays without people whom we loved, without friends who'd give us the birthday bums, and without the smiles that actually cheered your mood.

Love to be called as a "Perfect Stranger" because they are the only ones who never speak bad about you, but their sheer absence will someday kill you and take out your identity as an admired being. Being strange is far better than not being valued by known.