Crisis

I often fear alienation and estrangement but in those brief moments when I sense belonging and familiarity, I cringe further. It's a constant tussle between wanting to stand out & to settle in the crowd. It's in these bits that I gaze at the frailty of our existence in its entirety.
I am not good with words , my grammar is sloppy, I keep a Merriam Webster's by my side whenever I decide to write lest I be misunderstood or worse be considered a simpleton. I can't be a simpleton, I assure myself, how can someone who know words like "Machiavellian" & " Kafkaesque" ever be a simpleton?.
I look closely at my audience, it's a fair mix of  "intellectuals" "pretentious snobs" &  "simpletons". To whom am I catering my thoughts to? And essentially, are my thoughts exclusively mine?
My hypocrisy is beyond measure, my self loathing is a direct result of my insincerity. If it were a physical entity, I would have peeled it off myself in a final act of redemption.
We try to give a meaning to our lives, tagging it with labels like canned juices in a foodmart. But canned juices go bad on expiry while we go bad well before expiry. Canned juices smell bad when rotten while we give away no telltale signs of our decay, that comes way after we have expired.
I just stare towards the night sky and tell myself " I am special, I am made of stardust" but then a little voice knocks some sense into me. All of us are made of stardust, if all of us are made of the same thing, then by definition, no one is special. This realization is both a boon & a bane. It's a constant reminder that I am insignificant. No matter what I do or don't , I still will be forgotten. We will all one day merge into a singularity. That, will be some union.