Am I a critic?

Whilst taking a shower, I was could not help but think about certain aspects of my life.
Last night Yasha asked to read something she had written and to comment candidly on it.
A series of thoughts then triggered off a memory and a cynical thought set on the porch of Mrs Datta's office.

We used to study Thomas Hardy. I never liked him. But the question I posed was- why is he so renowned? what makes him stand out from the rest. Something makes me unsure to think that there was no other author that wrote quite like him. But really what is it that makes him to worthy to study in an elective english class?

and then again what gives me the license to be a critic?
Do I have this pleasure of taking apart his hard work, because his hidden meanings and insinuations are no longer acceptable or understood by the 21st century scholar?

I am a cynic. We all know that. I believe that men are assholes, and women are bitches. Therefore, when Thomas Hardy subtly describes the cruelties and suppression done unto women, I am confused as to who to mock more- him for writing about it, but not actually doing anything about, or the woman who can't hold her own.

When there are no more stars left to gaze upon

There are millions of stars in the sky. Some you see, others are shy. I recall a wintry night, it was warm and i caught sight
of
The stars in the night time.

I was younger then. it was time ago. I had a goal, I had a dream, I had a place to be. But the world being complex and I being simple, have lost my place, and now am victim to this Maze.

Months have passed, stars have come and gone. Lonesome is this life I lead, and in the black night, nomore stars to gaze upon.

When there are nomore stars left to gaze upon, I won't see another day. The lights in the bright sky shine nomore, and nothing I can do or say, will make the pitch black hole go away.

Dear Blog,

It's been awhile. I thought I would be good with this. But it all falls apart in the end. Isn't it crazy how nothing ever remains the same?
Mona Lisa's smile will not have the same relevance in 50 years, as it has today.
Bill Gates will be an anonymous legend in 100 years.
But much before that, I will cease to exist and what remains is but a distant memory, and maybe the offspring will muse on the thoughts of me some day, in a far away land.