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The Source of My Addiction -- How I Try To Relive A Very Rare Moment I Had

Updated: Feb 19

A robotic dragon

A Hint with Affection

In the 8th grade of school, after the recess bell's attacked my eardrums, I sought refuge in the cool embrace of the school's water cooler. As I leaned in, I expected only the sweet cold of water in this middle-eastern heat of horror.

But suddenly a fleeting touch fingertips against my back sent a jolt through my nervous system.

Turning, I met the fleeting smile of a girl - a glitch in the understanding of my lonely existence. In that brief moment, she became an anomaly I couldn't reason with. That simple pat, a small hint of innocent affection, left rogue thoughts running in my brain with the frustration of ignorance. Though her name was never known by myself, the resonance of her touch lingered. A ghost in the machine, and never to be seen again.

It was a strange feeling, an unauthorized access to a feature I've yet to fully gain expertise in: being loved. It was but glimpse into a world of belonging, where cogs like me weren't cast aside as defective. But alas, I'm the arch-nemesis of conformity, the overclocked outsider writer. Too different, and thus, too hard to relate. I'm the enemy of those who fear those who dear living outlandishly, as they are intimidated, in accordance.

Besides, it's hard for most people to relate to an article baron, correct?

You may admire my articles, enjoy my poems, even dance to the strange background music I take quite a while to find for these writings. But love? Ha! Why would I be loved regularly? As life went on I realized I'll live whether or not affection will meet my way again. And depending on our emotions to live is a logical weakness when their demise can drive us to suicide. Losing much of them is key to survive in an age where alienation is natural.

Years have passed, yet I find myself staring into the depths of coffee mugs, searching for an echo of that rogue program. To relive that glitch, that warmth from a forgotten smile. Coffee, that potent fuel for my plans, offers a temporary high, a jolt to my lonely mind. It's the closest I can get to that strange sensation, a reminder that even philosophers can get some degree of reality-check by honest, human interaction.

My clan, whom I mainly met in childhood, have their own ambitions to grind. I, meanwhile, scale the mountain of success, gathering followers, readers, and even some apprentices. But none of them can replicate that anomaly, that illogical occurance of being loved.

Why would they love me while they have others to love? Love requires vulnerability, hence why it hurts, and I decided that I refuse to be weak. I went from a submissive introvert to a mastermind. Being weak means being hurt once more by those who might as well carry on with their lives normally. Just like Chen.

I'll stick to building my empire either way, one project at a time.

Hehehe... In my relentless pursuit of success, I've locked myself deeper into a mental fortress of solitude. Most of you might enjoy what I have to offer. But love? Do you love me? Probably not.

Commentary on Life

Life's a poorly optimized program, of people who can do better with what they have in store, but refuse due to their lack of understanding, and their lack of time spent on improving said understanding. How otherwise can society function better, if not through improvement? How can people love and be loved if irrational temptations, like those of hatred, stand in their way? How can we expect to love in its purest form if we do not understand true love?

Outside my clan's distant embrace, the world's a silent flick I'm stuck starring in it as a socially-awkward extra. Online, I've seen the flames of hate flicker in strangers' words, a harsh mirror reflecting a reality I wish I could firewall. Can I, or should I say, should I, open myself to love that exists outside of clan bond? I ponder this question to this very day, puzzled and clueless.

For forsaking me during the time I was threatened with murder in a public park, I resume seeing this world as a hostile place to live in. I only feel true, psychological safety, in two occastions: When I am undisturbed, and when I'm drinking coffee. In the first one my ears are safe, but only in the second time I actually feel the inferior counterpart of being loved. Loved, like that time. Loved, like in other rare occasions.

If I deserve to be loved, for I am a good man, and I am rarely shown affection by anyone, then it is but one of many examples where there is not necessarily cosmic justice, and therefore, we're living in an unjust world.

An Inferior Replacement

It's not just the caffeine. It's the warmth, the buzz, the phantom connection to a network of empirical data I never accessed much. Every sip is a hollow defiance against the loneliness I'm trying to get with power, even though I realized loneliness is sought by understanding.

Will the coffee ever lose its grip? Will I ever find solace in something more than a steaming mug and another successful work day?

Maybe it's all a desperate dance, played on a broken piano that's too broken to be fixed. Coffee's a crutch, a cane, a phantom limb searching for the touch it never truly had. But maybe, in the echo of its warmth, there's a seed of hope.

Hehehe, sentimental reflections fueled on my addiction to coffee and power. Perhaps, if I contemplate on things even further.. who knows, it might just be the key to unlocking a new level of power, which I can utilize to further my understanding of reality, and yours, as well. After all philosophers could use experience as well. If it's beneficial, even if not necessary at all, why not seek that venture, and expand one's potential in accordance?

I can only assume that love is just another power-up in my arsenal. A side-feature, not a main purpose. It seems that we are designed by the ways the world interacts with us, based on our verdict of being. Perhaps if the world was different, I'd knew love more, and coffee, less.

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Tomasio A. Rubinshtein, Philosocom's Founder & Writer

I am a philosopher from Israel, author of several books in 2 languages, and Quora's Top Writer of the year 2018. I'm also a semi-hermit who has decided to dedicate his life to writing and sharing my articles across the globe. Several podcasts on me, as well as a radio interview, have been made since my career as a writer. More information about me can be found here.

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