I’ve been called crazy for a long time. Or maybe I gave myself that label? Doesn’t really matter. Whether I’m crazy or not, does it affect the fact that I’m enjoying life every day? Most of the time, no. Sometimes, yeah, it does.

Then, I return to myself briefly, question myself for a good while, and hand myself two options. You know what?

One red pill, and one blue pill.

Sounds familiar? Sure, it’s all just in my head, but even then, I still have to choose. Take the red pill, and I keep living the regular life, facing reality. Take the blue pill, and I go on being free, dreaming, doing whatever I want, no matter what it all means or how it turns out.

And I choose…

I woke up in a quiet panic, as if torn from a place more real than reality itself. The visions still lingered, those people in the asylum, or whatever that place was. They laughed and cried and screamed and trembled, all at once, like marionettes possessed by too many hands. It was not performance, but a symphony of raw being. Each of them was a multitude, and yet the multitude was one. A single consciousness diffused across many forms, or perhaps many selves collapsing into a single pulse of existence.

In that flicker of experience, the boundary between observer and participant dissolved. I was no longer sure if I had merely seen them, or if I had been them. There was no distinction. Each gesture, each expression, each flicker of emotion seemed to originate from a shared source, like memories syncing from a past we never lived.

Maybe madness isn’t madness at all. Maybe it’s just the mind stripped of filters, screaming the truth too raw for the polite theatre of sanity. Maybe we all break the same way, just not loud enough for the world to hear.

And in that moment of still-balancing breath, I wonder if it is really the mad who lose touch with the world, or the sane who lose touch with themselves?

“Man is nothing else but what he makes of himself.”

Jean-Paul Sartre – Philosopher, Writer

Alright, I’m awake now. I need to calm down. Where are we again? Ah, I still haven’t chosen yet. Chosen what, exactly? I can’t seem to tell the difference anymore between clarity and confusion, between awareness and delusion. Maybe that’s the nature of consciousness itself, not something solid, but something that wavers like a flame in the wind. The more I try to grasp it, the more it slips away, like water through open fingers.

Perhaps mindfulness isn’t about silencing the chaos, but learning to listen to it with complete attention, until even disorder begins to reveal a subtle pattern. Perhaps being sane has nothing to do with control, and everything to do with staying present, even when the present is uncertain, painful, or absurd.

So I breathe.

Not to return to something safe or known, but to return to this instance as it is. I stop searching for which pill to take, which path to follow. Maybe there was never really a choice at all. Maybe the only real act is to remain still, fully awake, and simply be.

Are you still here with me?

If you are, thank you. If not, thank you anyway, for having wandered with me, even just for a blink of time. Now, if I may ask, just one question: do you consider yourself a normal person? Like all the other people who seem to move through the world with such certainty?

“Normality is usually defined statistically or functionally as behavior that falls within a population’s average range, and does not impair daily functioning or social norms.”

Psychological definition – according to APA (American Psychological Association)

I’ve been wondering what that really means, this idea of being normal. In a world as uncertain and fragmented as ours, what does it mean to fit in? To be well-adjusted? There is something curious about the idea, almost unsettling in its demands.

Carl Jung once wrote that the most terrifying thing is to accept oneself completely. Maybe it is easier, and far more common, to accept a role than to accept our whole self.

Sigmund Freud suggested that much of what drives us is hidden beneath the surface. He believed people often avoid true freedom, not because they don’t want it, but because it requires responsibility. Freedom involves responsibility, and most people, he said, are frightened of responsibility. So perhaps what we call normal is not honesty, but comfort. A carefully drawn line around the self, meant to keep everything unpredictable at bay.

But that’s enough, I won’t scramble your thoughts any further. At least not while we’re still talking about normality.

I believe that, deep in our own awareness, each of us feels normal. Because when you’re truly facing yourself, there’s nothing left to measure against. Nothing holds you back but you. Imagine that for a moment. When all the usual frameworks dissolve — moral codes, legal systems, even life goals — how gently free you might feel to simply be… normal, in your own way. I sense you can picture it. I’m certain you can.

And maybe that’s where our true self comes alive, not in the definitions the world gives us, but in the spaces where those definitions fall away. Perhaps normality isn’t a fixed shape but a blend of stillness and chaos, where you stop trying to become anything and simply return to who you’ve always been.

So I ask again, not as a challenge, but as a whisper. Are you truly normal, or are you simply trying to stay afloat in a world that has long forgotten how to live the life of an individual, before bothering with this thing called society?

“The unexamined life is not worth living.”

Socrates – Philosopher

Deep down, maybe we do want to be normal. But we also have to live. And that’s where difference makes itself known. Each of us is born as a unique being, with the right to choose, even if choice lives inside certain frames. In philosophical documents on socialism, that is called freedom within a framework, right?

If only we could live forever with nothing but our own self. But humanity has carried the instinct of community since the days we wore nothing but survival. We are born into language, rules, customs and expectations. Before we speak, the world has already begun shaping us.

To live among others is to adapt. Some rules protect us, some tame us, some bury us. Sigmund Freud called it the super-ego. Carl Jung saw it as the shadow we must learn to face. Friedrich Nietzsche reminded us, to live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.

We are all finding meaning, often without realizing it. Through pain, love, failure, habit. Through the stories handed down to us. Søren Kierkegaard said it simply. Life must be understood backwards. But it must be lived forwards.

So perhaps the task is not to escape society, but to remain conscious within it.

To know who we are, where we stand, and in what now we exist. To know what must be done, and what must be left untouched. To know when to follow, and when to break the rules. To hold ourselves in self-critique, and hold one another in reflection. Then humankind may grow toward a horizon even our imagination cannot yet imagine.

And so, we take hold of our own lives.

The moment of becoming crazy — truly, consciously crazy — arrives.

“Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

Albert Einstein – Theoretical physicist

Surely you don’t want to live a life of repetition, waiting for change to unfold, while madness takes the form of wasted time, right?

Let me ask you one more thing. What do you want to do with your own life?

At some point, everyone arrives at a quiet crossroads. No signs. No markers. No directions. Just a single question that has always been there, quietly waiting. Do you want to live a life moved by a stirring ideal, or one that drifts steadily in the comfort of routine?

Choosing to live with an inner ideal may or may not lead to greatness. What matters is being awake to what stirs you, even when it feels unclear and unsteady. It calls for presence filled with effort and resolve, not perfection.

And, living a lazy life is not something evil. It is peaceful, safe, and easy to repeat. But over time, it can fade and be forgotten. You stop growing, and comfort starts to feel like purpose. Then you forget what you’re truly capable of.

Success, failure, or nothing.

In the end, everyone has to choose which pill to take. I’ll leave this one to you.

“An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his fools.”

Ernest Hemingway – Novelist, Writer

I told you already. We’re all a little crazy.

If you’re not, perhaps you’re simply echoing a dream dreamt by others, walking paths paved before your birth, never pausing to wonder if the journey was ever truly yours. That’s fine. I won’t stop you.

But I believe this. Every act, however small, leads to a different future. Each breath, each pause, each bold step into uncertainty, bends the path in its own way. So come on. Live a life that feels alive. One that’s yours.

In the words of Friedrich Nietzsche, one must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star. Without that inner tremble, without the madness, how would anything beautiful or original ever arise?

Michel Foucault reminded us that madness is not always the loss of reason. Sometimes, it is reason stripped of illusion. A mirror that doesn’t lie, even if the reflection frightens us.

And Mark Twain, ever the sharp observer of human nature, said it best. When we remember we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained.

So perhaps madness is not our flaw, but our beginning. A signal that we’re still thinking, still feeling, still breaking the surface of something real.

Freedom is what you do with what’s been done to you.

I speak as if I were urging everyone to become strange, as if not being normal were the goal. But you must try it, just once. To become a little more mad than the person you used to be is perhaps the most sacred kind of freedom you can offer yourself.

I’ve said it many times, and I’ll say it again. I want to be free. That’s all you need to hear. What I think, what I do, how I do it, perhaps that can wait. Because that is me, and you are you.

We are not here to follow each other’s footsteps. Freedom is not about becoming the same kind of wild. It is about listening closely to the voice within, even when it speaks a language the world has forgotten. So take what speaks to you. Let the rest drift away. Let it linger or disappear. And when the time feels right, return to yourself. Gently. Clearly. As you truly are.

Freedom within boundaries. The boundaries of society, and your own. I cannot say if you can ever be endlessly free. But for now, let the world’s expectations fade. You don’t owe anyone the version they imagined. Listen to yourself. Ignore even my voice, if you must.

I’m not afraid of being seen as insane, and I don’t think you are either. Carl Jung put it this way, a psychosis is a state in which a person loses touch with reality. But sometimes, what we call reality is merely a socially accepted delusion.

In clinical terms, a psychotic is someone who experiences a disconnection from shared perception — hallucinations, delusions, a blurring of what is deemed real and what is imagined. But definitions like these belong to systems. To frameworks built to name, to separate, to manage. And maybe that’s fine. Maybe there is a place for those definitions. But they are not the whole picture. They do not account for wonder. For vision. For the courage it takes to see differently and not apologize for it. Being called mad is not a verdict. It is not the end of the road. Sometimes, it is the very place where a new kind of seeing awakens.

The vague silhouettes of those diagnosed with mental illness in the asylum keep appearing in my dream. I wonder whether it is only the so-called normal people who get to decide if someone is insane. Or is it that someone deemed mentally ill but completely ordinary in their own world has the right to define what normal really is? Perhaps, before I could even come to an answer, I had already been locked up somewhere for people with disorders, or if lucky, categorized as someone with antisocial tendencies.

It is only a matter of psychology and mental illness, after all. As for neurological issues, well, how could I dare to swing an axe in front of a master?

But you see, the mentally ill have always frightened us. I used to be afraid, but not anymore, maybe because I’ve become just as mad. Or perhaps it is that we as humans, or any living creature, instinctively create distance from what is different, even before we understand whether it is good or bad.

“There is no great genius without some touch of madness.”

Aristotle – Philosopher

Not a single genius who ever became great lacked a touch of madness in their blood. But that madness is not frenzy. It is not the loss of reason. It is the trembling of boundaries long taken for granted. The one who sees shapes in the clouds is not dreaming. They are living in a world of creation, one that may lead them toward truths only they were meant to find.

Everyone demands the world to be rational in a rigid, uniform way. But humanity’s greatest leaps have never come from that kind of conformity. The first to say the Earth revolves around the Sun was branded a heretic. The first to step out of the cave to name the light that no one had ever seen before paid for it with an endless solitude. And yet it is those people, those so-called abnormal ones, who cracked open the shell of human understanding.

Greatness does not come from doing what is right. It comes from daring to do what is different. And to be different, you must endure being unaccepted. You must learn to walk in the dark without seeing the path. A touch of madness is essential. Like a crack in the surface of reason, through which something deeper slips in, not to destroy it, but to remind it that logic was never the whole story. The sudden wind hits. And if it doesn’t sink the ship, it just might change its course toward somewhere the crew has never been. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

So instead of asking if you are mad, perhaps the better question is whether you have become brave enough to be.

There seems to be a very thin line between genius and blind madness. A thread so fine it shimmers only in certain light, like the edge of a dream just before waking. One misstep and you tumble into incoherence, another and you step into revelation. Irrational at its best. Thoughts show up uninvited, make a mess, and somehow that mess starts to look like a plan. People say it’s dangerous to lose your grip on reality, but maybe the real risk is clinging too hard to something that never made sense in the first place.

Truth be told, there are people who simply want to live a normal life. They do what they choose, in their own way. And perhaps, that too is being normal, in the most beautifully insane way possible.

As for me?

I want to try new things every day, be creative, think outside the box, and reach for the infinite horizons.

Let’s see how far I can go, and you too.

And so, you see, my final decision was to take all the pills. To be greedy enough to dream and still stay grounded, to live a life that is entirely, fiercely, unapologetically mine.