We make mistakes on a daily basis, maybe we keep a fake friendship despite the total sense we own for how far is it from our conform. Maybe a not precise rendezvous, maybe a wasted one. Maybe a word that we regretted but meanwhile didn’t fix. Maybe a memory that we certainly got wrong, or it can be an intention we analyzed blindly. Maybe a car accident, murder, thrift, resignation, even dismissal. Mistakes differ of course, some are abysmally life changing, some are not that operative. Those are our choices, either consciously or else were they done.
But why do we sometimes feel that what we couldn’t choose is also a mistake? Things that we were born with, and lived years with them suddenly started bothering us, and from this I assure that *judging* is the reason behind every suspicion.
There is something called self judging; when people’s opinions contribute to yours. When you are convinced that impurities are all above your head, and persons are having less impurities. There, you entirely lose enthusiast and hope then stick with passivity, thereafter smuggle it out to whoever runs after you.
Acquiescence for everyone’s desire but the one’s needed. People look and stare at each other’s lives, families, problems. Then try to attract every eye to the thought that they are better than them, in most cases eyes believe. Isn’t this a problem? People only show the good side to the other. In priority, the good side finds another; seemingly superior. Then they start faking everything to remain interesting to themselves.
This is an issue of misunderstanding; or lack of explanation. Screens get bigger, and social iteration vivid. It looks like we remain satisfied customers but not really. At the end, can we count the unchosen stations yet the things we need to consider facts?
The trending tendency for today is escaping ordinance. Yes, couldn’t be more accurate even, we have to escape with both of feet, and hands if necessary. So what is out of ordinance but the unchosen? Factually, what doesn’t have emotions doesn’t seem like it seems. People are perfection imperialists, and here we as people battle to never care for fictional perfection, accept the unchosen to rock the chosen.