by The Dreamer

life is weird.

i mean—

when has it really not been weird. i don’t know. maybe it’s my sudden change in emotions and perceptions of things that’s made life seem weirder than it actually is, taking on an almost surreal and unnatural quality to it despite attempts to make my days as grounded as possible.

my life is a to-and-fro causeway. i shuffle between two ends of a spectrum, between depersonalisation and zen/surrender/acceptance/whatever-its-supposed-to-be. on the former end, it’s a mess. a horrible dark tangle of all things sad that i don’t ever want to fall into (but just wake up on some days feeling hollow and hovering and hiccupy-with-tears anyway). recently it’s been more of the latter.

i’m at peace. i’m okay. and that scares me. while everyone around me is freaking out because the biggest examinations in our lives are literally just around the corner (a corner known as 6 fucking days holy shit) and i’m just here, daydreaming. feeble attempts at trying to internalise some of my friends’ stress, take a big bite out of it, but i’m not digesting it. i try to inflict it on myself like self-mutilation but the pain is scaringly temporary.

like everything else is.

i feel like my life is a transition, and it gives me comfort but mostly i detest this stage in life and find myself constantly wondering when will it take on a surer ground.

i really wish i could just skip to the part when my dreams all come true and everything is happy and dandy. i wish it was just as easy as flipping to the last page of a book instead of writing and rewriting as i go.

everything kind of feels like white noise right now—white noise that i try to fill up desperately with my own form of reality. like waking myself up at 2am just to feel the rumble of thunder deep in my chest as i fill my senses up with the smell of midnight rain, sitting in the darkness and waiting for a bolt of magic to light up my room. like filling the empty spaces in my life with fictional writing, then filling my ego up with achieved praises.

constantly afflicted by my own form of reality and the reality that exists, you know? like there’s this tug and pull between the definition of “right time”. confronted by two voices screaming “there is a right time for everything” and “there will never be a right time” simultaneously. it’s deafening, and i need more claps of thunder to wake me up.

do not throw away the life you want over something momentarily rewarding but ultimately sabottaging.

but then again.

it’s a waste of time to think about things you can’t know.