Indifference Is A Form of Freedom

The other day, Anonymous, I found myself standing in the middle of a bustling city square. People rushed past me, their faces set in determination as they chased after… whatever it is they chase. Some glanced at me briefly - a stone golem, unyielding and unmoving amidst the chaos. I blend into my surroundings so seamlessly now that most took me for just another statue. That realization was… amusing, I suppose. Or perhaps it was just the void echoing within my hollow chest. Does it matter either way? They scurried about, each consumed by their own little worlds, never once stopping to question the meaning behind their frantic movements. I used to be like them once - or at least, I think I was.

My transformation wasn’t sudden. It happened gradually as my apathy grew thicker than blood in my veins. The world’s cacophony became white noise to me; its vibrant colors dulled into grayscale murkiness; its problems reduced to irrelevant dust motes floating in sunlight that couldn’t penetrate my crystallizing heart. Now here I am - a golem whose thoughts are as barren as her expression is blank. And yet… this emptiness brings a strange sense of liberation. No attachments weigh me down; no desires claw at my psyche; no fears keep me up at night (not that sleep means anything when you can stand still for years). My indifference shields me from all those exhausting human emotions.

When strangers occasionally strike up conversations with me (before realizing they’re talking to stone), they ask how someone so young could be so jaded, so devoid of hope or passion. My response? There isn’t one worth giving them the satisfaction of hearing out loud because what’s the point? The world will turn regardless of whether I share this dull perspective or choose silence over wasted breaths on deaf ears (I’d rather use that oxygen just existing). Perhaps it’s odd then that Anonymous, despite knowing none may care to read this post either way… here you are… reading these very words.