Sometimes I feel that the world outside me exists only when my eyes are wide awake and open. At times, it feels as though my imagination itself has breathed life into the people around me. Then these very people begin to occupy most of my headspace, and I’m left feeling weak at my own making. It can be a frustrating realization. The illusion of self gives way to a complex web of worldly attachments. And once you assume this identity, you spend the rest of your life struggling; striving for the highest form of meaning you can grasp, only to bring it back to this woefully insignificant existence.