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No other computer game than Microsoft Flight Simulator could excite me so much. My craze for it could make me spend hours just thinking about the game, its graphics, the aircrafts that could be flown, and the cities that could be seen from the air. I read so much about that game. I was mad with every thought of it. I felt myself being a part of the simulation every time I imagined anything related to a computer machine. I was 14 years of age then. I have never played Microsoft Flight Simulator in my 20 years of life and neither did I see that thing working on any computer system.

Today, more than six years later, I realize I have spent two and a half years of my recent life in a similar form of madness and it was worse than what I did then. It was just the name, it was just the imagination, it was just the game; it was just a simulation. But it could defy all the previous years of my life and not only that, it could also cause to make a difference in such a large measure that every second of it looked more real than life.

I laugh at myself as I write this. One of the reasons I laugh is that nobody laughs at a person who laughs at himself. I pose a threat of being laughed at just because after doing what all I did all these years, I say that it was a waste. I say that it was all foolishness and that it was nothing. It was nothing.

I know how a pizza tastes. I have had it several times. When somebody tells me about having a pizza, I can smell it; I can also imagine its taste. When I think about water I know how it can quench my thirst, I know how wonderful it is. When I think about any of the deodorants I have, I know how they smell. I know how necessary they become for me at times. Nothing of all these amounts to foolishness.

More than two-thirds of my last two and a half years were nothing but foolishness. They were unnecessary in logic and idea. They were the living proof of my naïveté. The limits of this naïveté were so vast that I thought them to be madness. I was living a fantasy that never existed.

I considered a life to be real. I thought I loved it. I believed I could never imagine myself being happy without its existence for me. I was convinced I could never be happy if I were to live without that life around me. I was confident that I loved it.

I imagined all that I could have been with that thing around me. I wondered how wonderful my life could be if I could achieve it. Every breath I took used to tell me that I am the most blessed because I was in love with it and that I was mad after it. I flaunted my madness telling that nothing could ever be achieved unless madness is attached to it. I prayed for it and I fooled myself to happiness.

There were letters I wrote – addressed to myself, to my friends, and to nobody. I had written poems out of grief, out of love and out of nothing. I proved with words that I was mad and that my madness was worth it. I drew blood terming it as a proof of divinity in the madness. I shed tears thinking that there were the signs of purity and depth in my love for that life. I dreamt with eyes, both closed and open, considering these visuals as proof of integrity in the madness that had weaved itself into my life and had become existential even at the sub-conscious level.

I loved my friends for the support they rendered to me. I always asked them to be with me even if they knew I was wrong. Maybe somewhere deep inside my heart I knew I was wrong. They were with me. Somehow they tried to tell me what I was doing was wrong. I however kept convincing them that my madness was sacred and was true; even if it were to be wrong.

The sleeplessness I had enjoyed I thought was cementing my love. I thought it made me more powerful with my emotions. And I had thought my emotions to be true. I developed a defined tinge for people who appeared to be against me or not in my favor. I was biased towards this love and considered everything it did to be of truth and intelligence.

I was insane with cynicism embedded in me which had narrowed down my vision. I knew I was wasting my potential but all along I was thinking that all this madness was worth it. I thought my priority was justified not even thinking for a second that there maybe some unreasonable idea in it that could be destroying me from within. All my prayers had this priority talking.

When ever I thought of getting out of this, the biggest thing that stopped me was my ego. Something told me that after being so much into it, if I turn away, it could be a cause of embarrassment to me. I thought it to be wise making it a conviction and sticking to it. I also took pride in this conviction.

Now, as I write all this, I solemnly say that it was never worth it. I may go on to tell that some things have opened my eyes and I regret what I had done. But apart from some realization, I attain nothing. I am in search of salvation.

I don't know how I got attracted to something I never knew of. I had never been with it. I had felt it. But all along I was convinced that it was there and I loved it. I had called it a premise; a premise that always caused dissatisfaction. I had even thanked Allah for having me in love with that life. I don't yet understand what it was when it could make so much difference and cause to change everything right from the way I ate food. It was so powerful yet useless.

I don't know what I have learnt. I don't even know if there was something to learn except for the fact that I can be so foolish and life can contain so much of unexplainable ideas and emotions; all of them illogical. I am trying to contemplate on what went wrong with my ethics. I want to know what it was if it was useless. In some way I am looking for explanations to justify my behavior. However, the desire for such a thing holds only one reason – I want to feed my ego. I me glad with my friends being happy for me and so, I want nothing else.

Someone might now say that I have not only cheated myself but even others who supported me. I have nothing that could defend me except for some gratitude I could get showing sorrow in my eyes. That would amount to sympathy; be it that way. I want to keep my head held high with honor and I want my heart to be free of any disease. I understand it is more important to be loved than to love.

If again I get a chance to love, I will be afraid of it. I will be afraid of all the forces involved in it. But I need it. Perhaps time will teach me to tame this fear. Perhaps I will someday understand that it was never a fear but simple continuation of the preexistent cynicism. I wish I had some person who could answer me everything I ask. Allah had already showed the path, so it must be ironic that I desire the presence of such person. All these words are themselves ironic. I don't want to be that. Please.