We write history every day. Our own, personal, tiny kind of history.
It's small, but it's still history. A small line on an enormous white piece of paper. A tiny colorful line that happens to intersect other tiny lines on its path. A microscopical line that gets lost in the infinity.
It's funny, really. 'History' is such a big word. It encompasses such a vast volume of grandness and greatness and eternity. And we, as human beings, represent these tiny dots that you can't even tell apart from a fair distance. Yet we, insignificant creatures, write history every second. We, trivial animated things, are capable of excellence. Through our thoughts, words and actions.
And I have to admit, such an idea is kind of hard to ingest. On the other hand, it also creates a rather haunting sensation of randomness. Maybe even chaos.
It is random indeed - all of it. When we're born, who our parents are and what they've done with their lives up to that point, who their parents were and how each and every one of these people has been raised. How we're being raised. How other incidents happen to occur around us. How these incidents affect us. Our each and every choice. Every single word we utter. Every smile we smile and tear we cry. Every road we take, and every story we write without even realizing. And then there are all these people that enter our life by choice or chance. The way they act, talk, think, respond to random factors, actions, words. Their dreams and goals - short term or long term.
Our dreams. Each and every little dream or ideal that we develop.
All these things, and so many others, when turned into reality, create the world as we know it. Right now. This very second. And from this very point, it falls into our hands to write the rest of it. All the history that's left unwritten. Every single letter of it.
So, just how capable do *you* feel to write history?
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