Do you think it takes strength to stay alive; that going on necessitates courage, when this path has become almost impossible to endure and every step feels more strenuous than the previous one?

Do you believe we're heroes, in a way, us melancholic freaks, natural-born pessimists, followers of misery and masters in self-pity, just because we don't give up on this world, just because we slowly make our way towards work every day, engage in regular sessions of small talk, wear that smiling mask and try not to complain too much?

How convenient, for us to be labeled martyrs, to accept a reassuring pat on the back once in a while, and withstand those customary glances of feigned understanding.

Still, to stand strong is to struggle against monotony's invincible armies, actually daring to alter things; to be courageous means to assail whatever blocks your path, instead of succumbing to invisible pressure or simply choosing to go with the flow, utterly passive, unable to resist, incapable of putting an end to this torture.

After all, it is so much easier to settle for what's there, to bow your head low and quietly bear the burden, rather than make an effort to escape, rebel, attack the codes of conduct, which threaten to asphyxiate your spirit, even if that means surrendering life itself.