After a pretty long absence I decided to finally come back. And to write about irony.

I chose irony because it’s something I get to face really often lately. It’s everywhere I go, surrounding everyone and everything.

It’s ironic to do your job well and to get criticized because of how you get dressed. Or to find out you’ll get fired if you come late again, and still do it. Or to find a new great apartment, in which you can really feel good, not to pay to much for it and to have cockroaches…

It’s also ironic to live in a big city and still be bored… to have a well paid job and still not afford to buy not everything you want, but everything you need. It’s ironic to lose a friend for a stupid thing you did, when you actually didn’t mean no harm.

It’s like irony is a part of everyone’s life. We meet it every day, we’ve learned to live with it, we got used to it. We actually kind of depend on it. That’s why I wonder: If it’s a part of each and every one of us, why does it hurt? Why is it a bad thing? Why do we accept everything that happens starting with the moment irony comes in our lives? Are we really masochists? And if we are, than why?

I usually find an answer to my questions, but this time I can’t. Maybe because in my case, irony is overwhelming and I simply can’t deal with it. I refuse to accept that it has to be a part of my life and I do all I can to keep it away. Still it’s here, destroying everything I’m trying to build, every hope I have, every dream I fight for.

Maybe that’s me. Maybe I enjoy living in my world, where everything is like I want it to be. I feel better not letting irony open my eyes and see how things really are. Maybe I’m an ignorant. Or maybe I’m not. I’m just to stubborn to accept my own reality…