For the past couple of years, I have been drinking coffee beyond its flavor. I drink coffee to survive the everyday battle I confront with this real world. I drink coffee to drag myself from maturity and deny my youth. More often than not, I feel I have proven myself successfully. How many twenty-two year olds do you know who have been swiftly promoted twice in a multinational firm? How many young college graduates have doubled their gross income in less than two years, apart from those who work at call centers? As my dossage for caffeine has become directly proportional with my increasing professional responsibilities, my yearning for success has also become an addiction.
But this entry is not intended to be filled with self-congratulations. On the contrary, I am writing out of depression, which I have indulged mysef into.
Since time immemorial, I have lived by transcending my parents' expectations -- no, this is an underestimation. I have lived from my self-imposed expectations. I crave to boost my pride, as nobody cares to do it but myself. Yet I am getting tired of competing with my own expectations. I want to stop my productivity, but I don't know how without hating myself. I desperately want to do nothing, to cease moving, to stop smiling... to be a pain in the ass to everyone.
When was the last time I looked forward to the day ahead? I am starting to feel that my oversleeping until eight in the morning and my refusal to sleep at two in the morning are symptoms of a person sick with her own life. I refuse to believe that my day is always a hostage of the corporate world. There is more to life than working ten hours a day. I contend the remaning fourteen hours of my day with oversleeping even when I am already dead tardy, scrubbing myself too long in the bathroom, indulging for a TV primetime marathon unti I kill myself to sleep, and expressing depressing reflections as this.
It is only now that I realize that buying goodies as the best and only gesture I can think of to love myself is not worth the drainage of my entirety, even when I used to perceive that these are substantial forms of "achievements" when I was still a financially struggling student just a few years ago.
So why do I keep going on? Maybe because I have nothing else to do. Maybe I feel that my career is the only valuable that I have.
Too Much Caffeine?
Hole
There has to be someone to take this role.
And it has to be me.
Weeks from now, before my twenty-third birthday comes, my brother will leave for overseas... and by then, I should have accepted the role of taking care of my ageing parents, maybe for as long as they live . And there is no one to do this but me. I hate to see this as a black hole trying to magnetize my destiny. This is not fate, but my choice. I know it's payback time.
Verge
This thought has been completely formed and a second away from solidification towards a verbal translation:
Have you happened to see him, by any chance?
But the conversation was suddenly over.
Maybe it is fate that is forcing me to push to clean the slate from my paranoia of you.
highschoolish
I am done with my stalker era.
Yet despite pretensions and hesitations, I am blushing again.
Like high school, to another person who can never be mine.
Like high school, I always look around and hope to see him somewhere over the corners of the campus, but to no avail.
Like high school, here is a girl-magnet who doesn't even know how beautiful he is.
Or maybe he does, but does not care.
Like high school, I am still that goody-two-shoes that is overlooked on prom nights.
You can say a teenage dirt-bag.
But now, I am too afraid to even look at him.
I am done with my stalker era.
And may happily crumble in the periphery.