No regrets. No hopes. Just filled with that uncertainty of new beginnings. I exist in neutrality, and I have no idea if it’s good or not. People say that happiness comes after acceptance, but they never mentioned the transitioning that was involved. All I know is that eventually, it’s going to be better.
But sometimes I worry that that’s not the case at all; that I had put every last bit of belief in higher beings and laws of attractions over some stupid thing like being kicked out of my high school (okay, not a stupid thing, I’m just trying to downplay it), and now as I bask in disgrace as people raise their eyebrows at the news, I’m drained of all expectations and ambitions. Got a one track mind; specific school was supposed to be the way to success, not to be a statistic to add to their number of students who doesn’t have what it takes. Just like my mindset when doing their entrance exam two years ago: no other options. The way I saw it, the prestige and my grades was surely going to get me to a good college, then a good career, then a good life for my family, then a good life for me. Pass and survive this school as a scholar for twelve years or else. While that kind of thinking got me through all-nighters, twelve cups of coffee and scrounging up hope from the cemeteries where I buried my failed math tests, it never prepared me for the “or else” part. When the unthinkable might happen.
And happen it did. When all was said and done, when the school year was over, when I was still waiting for the news, I prayed and wished and used up 11:11’s. Desperation at its finest. All for nothing, by the way – except disappointment at myself. Very, very deep disappointment at myself. Deeper than Adele. Deeper than John Green books. Deeper than the depths of the damn oceans. Think absolute darkness and a black hole inside your soul. Depressing. That’s the word.
I’m afraid that I’m not just transitioning because I know I will be better, but, rather, I’m stuck in apathy – not just at the world, but at myself. (Though making a whole blog post about this is making me doubt that…) It’s like… After thinking, “What’s done is done,” I’ve got goals set, and I’m going to follow them. That’s all there is to life. A tiny part of me lays awake at night, scared and assessing, thinking back to my post about always living in wonder and finding myself, although able to be intrigued, just sitting waiting to get to work on success. Nothing matters at all but the latter. All because I put all my time and energy to something fixable and replaceable. It doesn’t bother me now, but it had taken away something from me: something I willingly offered anyway, but it still feels like it’s been stolen.
I don’t know what to call it. Happiness? Life? Presence? Whatever it is, its absence makes me feel that whenever I write something humorous or descriptive, it’s like I’m pretending to have it back. While in reality, I have no idea where it went at all.