What happens in the west doesn’t happen in the east and vice-versa. This is our country and this is our tradition. We love our motherland and we can die for it. North is different from South. And this state, this city, this town, this village and this house is where I belong. I cannot live anywhere else but here.
Lines are drawn and everything is divided beautifully. If not entirely, the plans do work out fruitfully with minor problems here and there. When these minor problems become big, it is dissected thoroughly and the offender is caught, punished and forgotten. Things turn back to normal; once again it’s a sunny day.
But, there is one story that no one can forget. An ordinary looking fellow, who lived in the mountains and always painted the oceans in his notebook, once painted the planet earth on a grand rock, it was magnificent, but he was anyways convicted for it. Maybe he was crazy, that is what most of us believe, otherwise, why will a sane person draw the beautiful earth and then divide it? Yes! That is what he did.
The blue, green planet looked so perfect on that rock as if it was alive, but then, that bloke painted a hand hammering the earth into two, a chasm that spread like the roots of a tree and divided the whole planet. It was a violent crime, of course. How could he even think so? But then, they say he was crazy.
There’s another story about that painter. You know that the earth is changing colour, you must have seen the photographs, it’s becoming reddish with each passing day. Some say that this change occurred only after that painter was hanged, which is true, but I don’t know if these events can be related. But it’s all crazy, no?