Ozymandias

The cruelty of History is that it creates its own historian, who in turn creates his own History. A single individual in this History finds his existance negated by the burden of objectification from the scrutiny of the historian. When a person dies, it is a tragedy; when a thousand die, it becomes a statistic worth jotting down.


What does a single, and probably insignificant life matter when one is considering the "big picture"? is he not part of the teeming masses that are birthed and pass into oblivion every day? who are these people anyway? can we even put a face to their names? History, a discipline of remembering, conveniently "forgets" the good and benevolent bits of humanity, a historian's world is polarised into the dualities of black and white - with no where in between.


History bestows the curse of "ordinary-ness". Because it "forgets" it is a harsh discipline to master, one that requires a harsher person to succeed in his pursuit of it. Yet he who is capable of breaking free from the shackles of mediocrity will have his name engraved on the annals of History. But does he then not become but a relic of History? a subject of his own study?


Until the day comes where History judges and carves me in the likeness of Ozymandias for what i have achieved in this life, i stand as my own magistrate.