Do You Think of Me?

I wonder, often, if they think of me? Or am I just somebody that's forgotten in the faces they once knew. Do they even remember my name?

I find it disturbing that we know people for years and suddenly they are gone. Not dead, but just gone from your life. Like a summer that ended too soon, before you could even say goodbye, it was over. The last words were the last words, and you can't change any of it. Someone who seemed so significant was reduced to just an afterthought. 

Call me sentimental, I think this is a great tragedy of life.

I remember everything, but I never said anything. All those who meant everything momentarily, I still remember vividly all the good times and bad. For some, I know I left, but I hope they know that I tried to hold on as long as I could. When they threw jabs, used me, berated me, and shattered my heart into a million pieces, I still hung onto the thought of them. All these ghosts are still mine, and maybe it is time to let them go, yet I don't know how. Each of them took a piece that I'll never get back. And I wonder if they know. Do I ever cross your mind? What do you even remember? What was the point of it all?

There is wisdom in forgetting: no burdens to carry, and I cannot blame them for it. It wouldn't matter

A Week Left

 In about a week, I turn 31 *barf*

Imagine pulling a sweater apart. At first, the strands will fight you, but soon they disintegrate. Each hank, that once kept you warm, now falling apart into a cloud of particles. 

That is exactly how I feel. Disintegrated. 

I am sick of hearing myself talk about it. I am sick of complaining and nothing changing. I hate my own reflection so much that I covered up the mirror on my wall. I hate it all, and I hate being here. Everything is a huge pile of disappointment. In this fragmented existence, what is the meaning of ambition? Or even connection? I have nothing to offer anyone, much less a partner. I keep trying to put it altogether but I keep failing. 

With days, weeks, and decades passing me by, what is the point of continuing. I bought a car over the weekend. I just felt like crying and I don't even know why. I might have to buy a home and I am dreading it. 

-------------Side note---------------------------

FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER!FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER!FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER!FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER!FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER!FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER!FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER!FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER!FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER!FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER!FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER!FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER!FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER!FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER! FUCK THIS PAPER!

I hate this paper so much now. More than the paper, I hate myself that I cannot complete it. I hate it and I hate breathing! fuck this!

-----------End Side note--------------------------

Dear Reader,

If I get more unhinged in the future posts, please know that I wasn't so from the start. I was a kind, happy, bright kid. But the world fucked me over multiple times. Fuck all those people who destroyed me. Fuck the decisions I made. Fuck the responsibilities I must dredge to survive. And overall, fuck having to survive the most!

From the desk of an exhausted 30-year old going on 31,

Forgive me,

Yours Truly

The Life I Wanted to Live

 As I teen who grew up watching Hollywood rom-coms, I dreamed to be like the girls in the big city. I grew up in a big city, but my space in it was tiny. A 6'x6' room was my world for the most part. With caged wings, I just boded time till it was my turn to be free. It took 24 years, but I was finally free. The flight wasn't long then but a massive weight was lifted off me. For the very first time, I felt like I was something. But soon that proved to be a temporary stay, and I flew much farther to my current state in life. 

As a teen, I thought that I will live with a passion for life. Much like the dreams of the 90s, I will travel all over the world, my whole life in a suitcase, chasing all that this world has to offer. I dreamed of fancy dresses and even fancier parties, all to make up for the lack of them in life thus far. A tiny studio in New York City, a classic apartment in Paris or London, will be my abodes. Never one to crave material things, I wanted the experience of somehow feeling like I belonged. 

Dear Reader, I am disappointed to report that none of my dreams have materialized thus far. I will turn 31 this year, and I live in a college town of the US. It's all farm and fields here, no brownstones of NYC in sight anywhere. I have a what most people want, a sort of stable (piecewise stable to be accurate) job in a low crime area. I do not feel like wearing shirts here, let alone fancy dresses. imbibing the Gen Z spirit, I roam around in cargo-pants and cartoon t-shirts. I was fortunate enough to travel to NYC and Paris in 2022, but that was just a blip. I wanted joy, adventure, and purpose. I have nothing. 

All this to say, that life had its own plans, and I just floated along. I question myself almost everyday if this is what I want to be doing? Is this making me happy? Maybe I am so used to surviving that that is all I know. I purposely choose challenges over joy, in the hope that overcoming them will bring me greater joy. They never have. All I feel is numb, isolated, and alone. 

When I close my eyes, I think of myself as an island under the endless sky, slowly drifting away from the known shores. No bridges left, no sailor in sight. What is the point of all of this?