“Everyone is identical in their secret unspoken belief that way deep down they are different from everyone else.”

David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest


“I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses”

– Friedrich Nietzsche

There are days where waking up is such a chore, yet at times it feels like a ritual, mundane yet conforming. I do wonder, if the dread I felt is because  my mind longs for more sleep or maybe, just maybe, there is no reason to. I am grateful to wake up in morning to realise I am not yet in hell, but that doesn’t happen every morning. It’s normally 10 minutes of lying in bed. No music. No sounds. Just me and the subtle breathing I hear in the quiet house before the alarm starts again. Then, my mind feels clear and unlike in the nights, thoughts do not flutter through, more of, nothing goes through my mind. But then I will start.

Why do I wake up? Because I am obliged to go to school and perform so my parents will be proud? Because of that obscene amount of school fees? Because simply I ought to as God has given me another day to cherish? To be myself, or be the one whom I know will garner the least events so the day goes pass quickly. Or perhaps be the one who is so positive the day goes by so fast, so packed. I don’t like that. But I am not really sure now because I literally feed off reactions. Like a leech, doing things stealthily all for the blood it so deeply desired. My day, my mood and my thoughts depends on the reactions I get each time. Is that just human or am I too concerned on necessary things that kept me from living the life I wanted. So dependent on the others in a sense, so susceptible to others.

I was reading my daily fix on thoughtcatalog today and came across this,

” The more I learned from the stories of others, the more I learned about myself and how I wanted to avoid pitfalls, take risks and travel through life. It seems to me that despite how great the world appears to be, all our stories are worth telling if only you’re willing to share them. Now when you can be entirely honest, ask yourself: What makes their story better than your experience? The only difference between your experience and their story is that you never had the courage to tell it to make it a story.”

I always am afraid that what I have to offer is too uninteresting to people and not worth the time. So I kept to myself and believed that starting conversations are hard. But maybe its really not. Maybe it IS courage. What is this, growing to be such a weird person, how does she survive. 😦


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