It is just the wind that is constantly blowing on my face while I sit here waiting for it to end and for more minutes to pass. I am lonely and do not know whether I should be scared of everything. Plainly, there is just nothing there except for some little clues to many different paths, all I want to explore but sadly do not know where all lead. Little clues to the future that show nothing but my face, the background not unclear but barren, all because I am young and scared, and I am with various people but faces I do not see. This is the setting of my future: a surreal painting I question if finished or just have come undone, abandoned or have come to the ultimate fruition. It is a testimonial on how my present is: diminished, alone and unsure. What is this hesitation, and what is it about all these questions and the rudimentary guilt: have I made a wrong call? I could not be more sure of the decision I made, but is it only for my comfort and have I misled myself into thinking that I have done something right? I boiled inside waiting for myself to gather up the words that would lead to my resignation. It was very comfortable, i was sure then, but now seems to be too calm to be comfortable. So here it is, in my face, the question if I had done it right, because it is my life, and it is not just here and now, but the after tomorrow and through to the coming five to ten years.
I worry about the opinions of my parents, and I worry about the worries of my former peers. How was it that I had been so sure while hidden beneath my convictions were all these opinions and worries. Was I trying to defy them just to satiate my own thirst for rebellion? Did I just end up encroaching my own set path in order to rebel, and ultimately rebel against myself? If I still have to rebel, what am i? What am I still? Or is this all a conscious rational choice borne out of my own demands to be a person that I don’t look down to nor cower from, but respect? Is this a path to self-respect? What are all these questions then? If this is a process that I should take, then the choices I made within the past month were perfectly rational. I am rational. I am on my road to completeness, transcendence and maturity. But how should I be assured if there is just nothing but this cave continuously widening inside, echoing the opinions and the worries that I did not plant myself, but by the people who know me and care for me and my life?
Granted I have some responses that seem to make better of the situation, but I cannot sell to myself a clear statement out of little pieces of responses. The most important responses should be from me. And as I sit here doubting myself, I become deaf to my own potential and I become weak without my determination. And who am I to validate my own potential when I absolutely have nothing to show and seemingly no one to disprove. Was it just false determination then to quit my job, I ask myself now, and do I not have a sincere determination to go after what I really want for myself, using the potential I see very vaguely and wielding it with very hesitant hands. You can tell me that I am afraid and with much trepidation, but I cannot help myself. I’d be glad to see this familiar trepidation in successful people’s pasts, hoping that I will see myself in them. I hope to see something like this sensation bordering hopelessness and I hope to manage myself to encourage my knees to carry me on my feet.
This is me grasping for an honest reassurance, and while I do not want to be told how wrong my life has become, I would like to ask for honesty. The wind still blows, the sun on my face, I have been sitting here, waiting for my life to change.