Unexplained anger

I wish I knew where all this anger comes from.

I wish I knew the reason I find myself despising all these gestures I get to see. Why I feel so incredibly irritated by what people are saying, by the way they’re acting, by what they’re provokingly wearing.  They should be free to express themselves in any way they want without anyone passing judgements on them. And whether that fits into my own definitions of decency and good taste should be my own problem.

And yet, here I am, all critical and accusing. Condemning of mothers who don’t hold their child’s hand on the street, of old people who impatiently push you in the queue, of sales assistants who never wait for you to finish putting your shopping in the bag, of people who walk too slowly when you’re in a hurry, of customers who never smile when you say hello to them, of acquaintances who pretend not to know you anymore, of those who sing loudly in the bus station.

I can only guess that, in the end, all this rage against society is just another one of my own frustrations that I somehow refuse to fully acknowledge.


~ de Andra pe 21/09/2012.

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