"A person is only as big as the dream they dare to live." How heavy that this truthfulness must be bearing on the beholder of life, and yet how diaphanous men's obligations seem to be. Vicarious feelings of sorts stemming from our tempestuous wraths and poignant temperaments emote themselves on our lives' grand stage, congenially praised by life's audience as an esteemed work of pulchritude. People who dare to express their umbrage towards life's nonchalance, truculent as it may sound, ultimately gain upward mobility for their superficial rectitude.

I began dancing on my life's big stage four years ago. As a person who had been hiding from his life for the past thirteen years, it is no surprise that my first audition was mediocre. Yet with each successive failure I gradually mastered the language of dancing, albeit my confidence has been occasionally hampered by antagonistic factions among the audience. As I began to dance in my own right, I grew more empathetic towards the my life's expectations. I understand their spoken words -- "probeer weer!" cried the audience in unison only when I realized that I turned to the wrong side for support. Sometimes I stop dancing and turn to the baffled faces of the audience, saying coquettishly that I would like to give up. "But no," the audience protested in unison. "What will we make of the vacuum?"...

So I dance on, to the irony of life's quaintness and treachery...