It’s been over 25 posts here and I guess most people would think I’m heading somewhere. I mean, I’ve been blogging for almost two years now and by God, I should’ve gotten somewhere by now. I guess I know the hard truth: I’m still where I started one and a half year ago. I thought blogging would let me get into the groove, you know, like ‘prepare me for what’s out there’ kind of thing. But I guess, its not all true or perhaps I don’t know. Nowadays I don’t blog to get better at it or something. I simply blog because I want to vent out my feelings somehow and this seems like a perfect way to do it. I don’t know anybody who reads it and they don’t know who writes them.
I guess by every passing post, I’m falling more and more in love with it. I sit with my laptop most of the time either writing or reading something somewhere appreciating its beauty and complexity. I avoid most social contacts. I don’t go out to parties. I don’t go on dates. I attend classes and I read and write the rest of the time. People call me ‘selectively social’. I don’t blame them. I mean, I brought this upon myself didn’t I? I’m not even sorry. I simply prefer being alone to being among people. Because, I’d still be alone in the middle of a crowd. That’s even more depressing because all around you, you see people happy, people with people they care, people dancing, singing and enjoying and you see yourself standing alone in the middle feeling all awkward. That’s like hardcore depressing. All of the people I have have others that matters more to them. I just didn’t make it to their inner circle. So, I’m just a guy who’s this guy they know. I won’t blame them either. I simply didn’t try harder. Or did I?
I try too hard.
You know, I used to believe life needs to mean something. Like, you, I and everyone else are part of this jigsaw puzzle called life and we got to act out our part and accomplish our life’s responsibility. This is where I got wrong. I wanted to know my reasons of existence and I ran after it everytime. Everytime I think of it, I used to believe that I’m doing something for the greater good or something. Like I’m fulfilling a purpose my knowing what I need to do. I ran so much after it that I lost my path. I lost my reason and all at once it hit me. What am I even doing? I’ve ruined my life believing that my life has a higher purpose or something. I’ve totally ruined it chasing stardust all my life when all I wanted was right in front of me. I wanted happiness and I thought fulfilling this purpose would bring eternal happiness but that entire dream shattered like broken glasses, into infinitesimal pieces that you can’t even put it back together.
I had emptiness all around me. I had a void that’s endless.
As a matter of fact I still do.
I guess that’s why I’m writing about this when I could’ve written about a zillion other things eclipsing the earth.
An actor I used to like once said in a movie that to find something that others cant, you need to be a little lost yourself.
I believed in it and I got lost as he said. I didn’t just lose myself; I lost my will, my confidence and my very purpose.
While I was busy doing this, the world was becoming a better place altogether. I failed to see that happiness is always around us. We simply fail to see them, to feel them. There were happy children, happy couple happily in love, happy men going back to their happy homes after work, happy old men enjoying a happy retirement and there was me, a twenty-three year old who thought way too much for his age that he got so sick of living and he almost stopped living.
I guess it’s too late. Or is it? I should get into the ‘groove’, start living. I got to laugh out loud, love free and live happy. There’s no such thing as a life’s purpose. There’s just happiness and people like me who are simply too stupid to see it.
This is probably not the best thing to read but it made a difference in my life. I hope it does in yours’ too.
Never give up living. No matter what.
A Queer Little Conviction 