Prisoners of birth

"They're both oaks, even if they were planted in different forests. But then, m'lord, we all suffer in our different ways from being prisoners of birth,” – Fraser Munro (Prisoners of Birth)

So aptly put… come to think of it, most of what we are is because of something we don’t have a hand in. We can’t chose our parents, our religion, the social strata we want to belong to or for that matter our name – and it is all of these that gives us our identity. An identity that evolves, but never really goes far from its essence.

We are prisoners of our roots, and like in the extract, we can only hope to move towards the sun, while remaining firmly bound to our earth. I am not sure whether this is fortunate or otherwise, but one can only hope to grow into the tallest oak of the forest.

"Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day"

You can't swap your chains with another, much as you may want to, but you can find peace in the thought that it was God who wished so. How else can you explain "why" you were born when you were born where you were born and to whom you were born?

Accept the firmness of the ground you stand on, feel it hold you in place and it will set you free.