I was sitting in my favorite Bratislava cafe, being irritated by the overflow of tourists that have started making the city theirs and disrupting the tranquil atmosphere I have gotten used to, when I caught myself engrossed in pessimism. My thoughts trailed onto a path, not entirely unfamiliar to me, but a path of which I try to stay clear as much as I can. It is the path that leads to the dead-ends, to the place in myself, and everyone else human (I assume here that all human beings have similar tendencies) where high hopes and aspirations are destroyed, and labelled impossible. I took this path into the inner darkness, and I reside there still.

It seems to me that whatever dreams I have, of whichever nature, will never come true. The dreams, aspirations, and high hopes - regarding the future in every way, the career, the artistic endeavours, the stability, the security, the study, the love-life, the everything, - can not possibly turn out in the manner that I wish. That they never could. It seems perfectly clear to me that the pictures I paint of my future can never be realized in the minutest details I apply to them. Reality will always enforce its ruthless variations, however much I exert myself in the shaping of the ideal.

It is not to say that I will ever give up, I never would, my eyes will continue to be set on the ideal, and it is in that direction that I will ever push forward. But I fear, very much, here in the darkness where I shivering and alone bury my head between my knees, that the ideal will again and again be shattered into sharp pieces of illusion.

Surprisingly pessimistic,
..kH