20110120

Slumdog Millionaire



What makes it worth to live?
Is it love?
Is it money?
Is it the never ending quest for happiness?
Or is it all just about the same in the end?

We justify ourselves in many different ways.
I'm a real master at making up excuses.
But if no one knows what are we here for, what is keeping us from enjoying life?

Poets, musicians, actors, have made history with their lives.
They were not even given a chance to speak out about it.
What makes us believe that the poetry we read on our English classes, the music we play, the life stories we read about people that are now dead, would please the ones who can't speak for themselves now?
Why is it, that we assume everybody wants to be famous?
Do they?
Do you?

What makes them more suitable for it?
A different life?
A special talent?
Luck?

Why is it that when we watch a completely crazy love story in the cinema, we always root for the protagonists, we always want them to be together in the end, but we would never advice a friend to do such craziness for a loved one?
Why do those things always seem incredibly far away, like it could never actually be true for someone like us?

Why is it that everyone tears their eyes when watching a love story, of a boy and a girl who wait for years for each other, and yet
I'm sure no one would ever support me if I decided to get on a plane right now?

We all like to dream.
Why do we get scared when we're a part of it?

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