Being a Human

This is a feeling I usually get whenever I hear people criticizing shows, performances, and people. How I wish they could see themselves now: how cruel, sarcastic, and dirty they are.

Perhaps I'm a bit know-it-all myself that I learn to hate people who think they know more than I do. I detest persons who criticize anything as if it is the most important thing to do in the world.

Thinking about it, I realize I'm also a part of them, critics. I cannot last a day without complaining about something or someone. This very blog entry (and my entries) is proof enough already that more than a living being, I'm a human, born to err.

Sometimes I think, turning a blind eye to ourselves makes us dependent to other people for criticisms. And not admitting this dependence angers us. Probably this is the reason I loath my fellow critics: I was busy criticizing other things, forgetting to look at myself therefore offering my very soul open to their swords of fire. I am a being to them.

Probably, it is a part of being a human.