genko

 

 oh yes, they say i’m inspiring.

as if being me is something they could aspire to. of course, we nod. acknowledge, say thank you. but deep down, i already know they won’t make it.

people try, and i think they watch too closely, mirror too eagerly. they think repetition breeds essence — but it doesn’t. they stumble, trying to imitate what for me is instinct. they don’t struggle with life, but with the absurd idea of becoming someone else — me.

oh yes, how embarrassing. they struggle just to be a second-rate version of someone who never once asked to be replicated. there’s a tragedy in it. not the kind worth mourning, but the kind that lingers behind the eyes of those who try to copy brilliance and end up burnt by their own smallness.

and still, they continue. decorating themselves with borrowed fragments, hoping no one notices the seams. but how can it not be obvious? when they think being seen is the same as being, they don’t understand that presence isn’t performance. presence is architecture.

you don’t just learn how to be this.