That place with Invisible Cameras

It’s there anywhere and everywhere, those cameras.  Those people who watch, who observe your every move: both elegant and embarrassing; who listen to everything you utter sitting behind the wall or as an invisible face behind your table, are lurking around everywhere. They talk, they report, they create an image of you which will be imprinted in their memories forever until they really take time out of their precious life to get to know you  or until you move to a completely new set of place with a minute difference of different brands of cameras.
Where curtsy has to be imbibed into every cell of your body for the survival requirements even if it seems unreal and is repelled by every atom of your body.
Why? To preserve an image. 
Where the definition of you which is forever incomplete has to be masked using a poker face and swallowed in. Where a smile has to be forced out. 
Why? To preserve an image. 
Where you have to prove you are right by manipulating if required when you are on the verge to be proven wrong.  Because the image has to be superior. 
Because it is your image.
All this, only if you really care and obsesses about written off permanently in pages. And if you want to be as great and famous as Shakespeare.
 
Where you have to do things against your will because you will be judged into a permanent identity of immortality. Because you feel you are being watched.
Because you are being watched, with those invisible cameras.
—..
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