On the Chaos

I was raised in an orderly household. Courtesy of which, is my low tolerance of messy things. Made me a bit of a snob.

Things left around the house, not putting things back in their proper place after use, and not cleaning up after oneself are a few of the annoyances sure to put me in a sour mood.

Order and chaos are like yin and yang. One can't exist without the other, and one has no meaning without the other.

I have come to terms with the fact that no matter how hard I try, I will have to learn to coexist with some amount of chaos in my life. No matter how much my skin crawls.

One way to lower the amount of skin crawling is the undeniable fact that chaos represents life. No one will mess up the order of your things when there is no one around you to mess them up.

When I find something messed up, the immediate reaction is still a frown. But in that exact moment, I try to think that this mess means that someone's been here. That life exists in my home even when I'm not there.

Mess becomes more tolerable when it represents the eternal workings of entropy.

I think I'll feel sad, if I come home to things exactly as I left them. No one to mess things up. Maybe it'll be joy, but I think underneath there'd be a feeling of loneliness.

Order cleans up the mess, and Chaos messes up the order. This is the dance we are destined to partake in for the rest of our existence. There is a twilight zone in the middle of these two, and I believe life is beautiful there.

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