There's a reason for everything. And there's a reason why I stopped. I'm going to be honest now. I like being honest. It's just so much more easier being innocent.
I haven't been happy. Therefore here, my cornerstone of happiness, there is nothing to be happy about. I feel old, weighed down by perceived maturity, and sad, feeling neglected by a whole spectrum of humanity. Besides, I doubt that anyone misses me. Not many read this blog in the first place.
And I have my moods. My highs and lows. And I've figured out a long time ago about how petty my emotions are. They're nothing. And yet I end up thinking about it and probably caring about it more than anything else in the world. But that's just wrong. And selfish. Oh, how wholeheartedly selfish. But I don't feel like I have anything better to do.
I look at my lackluster days and try to figure out what it is that I need to put some colour in my life. And probably it's because I don't have a purpose. I don't have that something you work for, something to die for, to give me more structure in my life than my whim. I'm tired of living like this but it's the easiest way to go on.
Call me a sad specimen of humanity, but I've given up on people. Yes, already. I'm not sure if it's because I've been reading too much of the Malay Male to have been influenced by his worldview but I've given up on people, society, friends, family. The way I see it is I'm just not cut out for it. Nobody wants me, and because of that I feel hurt. I may be a pompous ass for saying so but I am. In order not to feel hurt anymore, I give up on feeling. I give up on reliance. I give up on expecting anything from anyone at all. Or at least I'm trying.
I don't know anymore if it's just self pity, or if I'm really a sad sad human being. I've tried smiling to myself at odd times, but it's honestly nothing more than a grimace, a grotesque distortion of my face. But it doesn't really matter, there is no one to watch it after all.
I wonder if it would've been different if I was beautiful.
*chuckle*






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