Tomorrow, I turn 26. Looking back at myself, I’m not proud nor ashamed of what I am. I just find myself still lacking. It’s not the social status for I am perfectly contented with that. We get by. Rather, it’s about what I’ve accomplished. When I die, I want people to remember me because I helped changed their lives for the better.
Although I’m sure my friends and family will fondly remember my corny jokes… if I’m still corny by then or I might have upgraded myself to witty intellectual discourse.
Or maybe I’m not contented. Maybe I want to be extremely rich so I can focus on learning more about the world and helping other people instead of worrying about what my future will be. The affluent ones sure are lucky. Yet some waste away their lives in drugs and alcohol. As if that charity in their name is enough. Nevermind. I shouldn’t judge, for I will never understand the psychological makeup that led them to their current choices. Perhaps it’s a typical “if you were in my shoe” thing.
Tonight I write as the thoughts come out of my head. Deconstructed and heavy perhaps, notwithstanding the many red lines my Grammarly extension for Chrome kept glaring at me. Later I will go back and edit the errors so my reader won’t go Grammar Nazi on me. Or maybe I won’t. This is probably the most honest and vulnerable I’ve been online. And I’m not ashamed. It’s part of growing up – continuous learning about the self and all that shit. I hope you won’t judge me based on the feelings that I write today, but on the action I will take regarding these feelings. I swear one day I’ll read this and probably delete it, or slap myself for overthinking and being too emotional. I am INFJ after all.
I read the first line again. Why does the topic of death become imminent when talking about birth and life? I skip to the end.
It’s just a minute to 9 pm. I’m sleepy not because it’s bedtime for kids, but because it’s too early for my mind to actually work. Last night I worked on my school report from 12mn to 2 am, and even I think it was brilliant. Tonight is February 22. You think I actually wrote this a night before my birthday. No. Somehow I just wanted to muse about life. You can call it the quarter-life crisis. I couldn’t possibly write this on the night of February 25 because I’d be too tired from all activities on my 1st night in Cebu.
I plan to edit this again on the actual 25th, but who knows if it will happen. Did it? Take a guess.
Editing. These days, what most people know is the filtered version of us. It makes me wonder if there’s anybody out there who actually knows the real me, and accepts me – flaws included. Am I heartbroken at the moment? Yes and no. Because I know finding THE ONE is gonna be really hard, and yet getting married is not something that I am desperate for. What am I desperate for? Acceptance, maybe. Validation too. That I am worthy of this Earth and this life.
I leave the draft for the next day.
Feb 23. I had a bad day. During the time I rode the tricycle to town, I thought about the things I have taken for granted and compared my life to the less fortunate. I am thankful for what I have, but someone isn’t happy with what I am – a failure of a daughter unemployed, lazy, weak, and dependent. People around me praise me for my capacities but I don’t see that in me. Even my most important person isn’t pleased. What I always hear are complaints and comparisons. “Why can’t you be like this or like that?” I am always overestimated, it gets tiring trying to meet expectations.
Please don’t get me wrong, I am very thankful about my status. I am aware that I am privileged with education, spending ability, being able to travel and all. But just like everybody perhaps, we always long for the things we don’t have. Someone else will always have a life better than ours. And so we dream.
In the quest to be perfect, each mistake is met with disappointment. And eventually, you forget yourself, your goals and dreams while being molded to fit people’s expectations. Like artificial intelligence, I am no longer with free will. Perhaps the most intelligent AI has more freedom than I do? I was born and raised to be a successor. A daughter who will look after her parents and the business when they are no longer able to work.
At this point, I’m really going out of topic. Maybe I’ll end it with: “Universe, thank you for this life. I don’t wish to die because that will burden people around me. But I wish I didn’t exist at all.”
Look at her, the young girl with bright eyes.
Look at that girl, her smile – the greatest disguise.