I was always so passionate. I had things to look forward to, to wake up for, and to be excited about. What has happened now?
“Do you want to wash dishes after you grow up?”
I cried the entire night and told myself the next morning I would never give up on what I wanted to do, even if it meant the people closest to me would disregard me.
“I’m sure you’ll never sing on a stage.”
I said, “Remember this day because I’m going to prove you wrong very soon.”
If only I knew I wouldn’t be able to.
Why has it come to this? It’s been almost three years and I couldn’t do anything. I suck at singing. I don’t practise playing my guitar. I can’t dance without looking like a chicken. Why?
I thought this year was mine. Mine to conquer and grow. I put in the effort. I did practice singing in my room after my parents refused for a singing class. I danced in my bathroom and played guitar when I had the time. So why? Why am I not better?
What’s the purpose of living if I can’t never be enough? Why should I live if it means I don’t even put the effort to do what I love? I’m tired of this. But even if I was good at what I wanted to do, it’s not like they would approve.
I want to die because I’ll keep disappointing myself and also everybody.
My grades are good in comparison to all the students in my school but just not for my teachers.
"What happened to you? You did better last year."
But they don't see the sleepless nights I spent this year just for studying. They don’t see that I’ve given up on my hobbies, and almost my dream for the not-so-good grades, for them to like me. They don’t see that I spent time studying for the grade I didn’t want when there was something else I was longing to do.
It’s cruel. I did what I was told but still, I’m neither good at what you told me to be nor at what I want to be.
When will this end? When will this torture end? I want to go somewhere where nobody can tell me what I have to do, and how good I need to be at that.
I want to live somewhere devoid of cruel judgmental eyes and brutal expectations. But there’s nowhere like that here, is there? Death is the only option.
As I type this, I see the time. It is fleeting and I hate it. There’s not enough time for me to study for tomorrow’s exam.
I’ve been crying a lot lately because I’m tired of all this. I cry because I can’t bring myself to study for them anymore, I can’t bring myself to stop typing my stories down, can’t stop myself from singing instead of doing something ‘useful’ and I can’t tell anybody this, because I’m afraid they would laugh at me.
I’m sure they would say, “Oh, were you crying for something so trifling?”
And it’s not something so trifling. Only I know the pain. Only I feel the pain of not being able to do what I love because nobody supports me in doing so. Anybody but me knows it’s not so trivial.
But it amazes me. It amazes me how I pick myself up after crying alone in the bathroom. I tell myself it’s all temporary. I tell myself if I just make it this year, the next will be better. I tell myself if I stop caring for everybody else except me, then it probably would get better. After all, it’s my life and I’m not so sure if the people who judge me now would stay with me later.
I tell myself if I hang on, then something better would come. I deceive myself into thinking that if I put myself out there and just start, maybe it’ll all turn out to be for the best like a tarot lady told me they would be.
What if I just start my YouTube channel and it turns out to be even better than I expected it to be?
What if I just sing in front of my family and it turns out to be even better than I expected it to be?
What if I just keep learning to play guitar and it turns out to be even better than I expected it to be?
What if I just do what I want to and leave the things that burden me, and it turns out to be even better than I thought it would be?
Sure, there are chances it would get even worse but there’s a possibility, just a drop in the ocean, that it might get better. I’m living for that possibility.
ns 15.158.61.7da2
