Tuesday, 2 May 2017

Muse: Do you remember me?

It is rather curious 
The odd moments 
In which we find ourselves 
Doing things 
We never thought we would do. 

Do you remember me?
For in absence of presence 
And in habits not my own
I find the little things 
My heart holds fondest. 

Because I do
I do remember you.

Dear Diary: I haven't gotten it all together

I have come to realize that I am the sort of person who seems to be perpetually under a certain degree of pressure --mostly of the self-imposed sort. There is something inherent within me that urges my being to be more than I can be, that compels me to think that at any moment in time one could always be more than one currently is. I have always been persuaded to consider such a state of being healthy, for it drives an individual from within, even when the external world crumbles apart, out of control.

Of late, however, I have been met with modes that have not been within my own jurisdiction, occurring with a frequency admittedly beyond my liking (rather dismal, really). It is lamentable to have understood this only all these years later, but I cannot deny that I feel at many points the besetting need to have life situations within my own control, so much so that when reality presents itself otherwise I almost always seem to fall into a state of consternation. The mechanism I employ in turn seems completely to abnegate the state of being I am in, and then redirect all my energy into an outlet of productivity, such as work. I suppose this is not the worst senario one could derive, particularly when compared to the devices I had employed half a decade ago, as a late teenager. 

There has recently been a sort of strain that I cannot quite construe. It has a fixed relation to the realisation that senior year of college is fast approaching --the thought of entering the corporate world throws me off slightly, and always has. It is rather outlandish, to think that I have not an inkling where I would be working in the next year. I have always been ready to move, for I never felt a genuine sense of belonging or attachment to any particular country, having spent my formative and developmental years in several. Life has always been an adventure, and the unknown a drug that brings me a certain "joie de vivre", although almost always intermingled with some anxiety. 

What is dispiriting on occasion is the fact that people seem to assume that I would end up "just fine". I cannot deny that if lucky stars exist, I have been the recipient of one too many, having chanced upon golden opportunities and blessed with experiences I would not trade for any material thing. However, I have not the confidence in this moment to say that I would be all right. For in reality, what of the future? One is never certain, and in this moment, I do not think I have ever been more uncertain. I have not gotten it all together, not like people think.

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