Stigma

If I have an operation on the distal part of my nose, I will not be accepted normally in this society. No salutary social interaction can transpire with me. Then I have to vacillate between aggressive and cowering attitude to confront the stigmatized confrontations all around. I will be free, my anger will be unanchored, and my mind will be anxious. A new tack of behaviour has to be discovered by me to carry on the urgent conversations. This skiff called life is not expected to sail smoothly. Its rind will be peeled off and then the society will try to turn it into a deadbeat. Its gestalt will be amorphous and injured. If you ideate that acceptance and sympathy are parallel, then you are in the wrong side. The dogleg of stigmatisation does not always take a rosewalk path. You have to bear with its horrid quid pro quo. Life is like a squid that will bring a violent blow to your sense of identity and solidity of your existence. You know all these; after all, you are not an ingenue. Fight against the troubles and turmoils with obdurate spunk. The weak phenotype can't prevail upon this stage longer. The enemy here is nebulous. You will not be always underwritten by divine forces. Leave the habit of imputation upon others. In effect, try to live your own life on your own dictums. Don't try to weasel out unfair advantage.