Canorous Rancour

It's interesting: regret. It's like a confession of being wrong, without the ability to rectify anything. What's the point, I always asked myself, when I felt tinges of it. There really isn't one, but it's human nature to have emotions, so I have regrets.

It always sounds tough and stoic to say you live without regret. I should know; I've done it. "Yeah, no regret, nuh huh, not me. Carpe diem and all that jazz." Whatever. I have regrets, because I'm not perfect, and, as such, I've made wrong decisions and done wrong actions.

There's a line between regret and self-pity that isn't at all fine, so I've never really argued with myself over it. Regret lasts a short duration of time, comes and then goes, and is forgotten. Self-pity is constant and nagging, like a bruise that doesn't heal. It's not hard to differentiate between the two, so it's not like I've ever had problems with that.

Wrong; being wrong; be wrong, be strong. They're my little mantras that I use to remind myself of my humanity, my fallibility as a human. It's easier to accept wrongness, really, than rightness, because there're more people willing to support you in being wrong than in being irght. More often than not, someone will be more than happy to reinforce the idea that you did something wrong than right.

So, usually, you end up rather alone in being right, and in plenty of company while being wrong. I've always made it a point to not do this: to not reinforce the egos of people who I consider wrong, and to ignore those I consider right. It's why I fail miserably at maintaining good relations with social circles, because I can't help but not give a shit about some people.

I've made mistakes. I've done wrong. That's the easy part. The hard part is doing the right thing, as the cliché always goes. Maybe I'm going in circles. Maybe this is wrong.

Maybe.