Bubbles...

My infatuation with bubbles began when I was still little. 

The iridescent sheen on its surface remind me of stretched rainbows ceaselessly changing colors and hues until it pops up into oblivion.

As I grew older, I started asking on its why’s and how’s. But as I mature, I saw it as an object of fascination with philosophical undertones.

What if you were to live inside a bubble, the same way like some of us do. You only get to see one perspective, and that is your own staring back at you from the fringes of the bubble’s walls. But in actuality, the convex walls reflect a diminutive version of you.

As you linger in this world of make-believe, you see yourself getting larger and larger. You become fuller and fuller of yourself. You fail to realize that with every grasp of air you do, your world becomes smaller and smaller such that with the slightest of touch whether coming from you or from an external stimulus, your world instantly pops up leaving you exposed, vulnerable and dazed.

You did not even realized that you were asphyxiated inside that bubble where your recovery will lie on how long you immersed in the world your foolishness built and that if you fail to recover , you just throw yourself into another bubble, admiring, extolling yourself in its interior walls as the world watches you in disdain and pitiably.