Whenever I feel lonely, sad, under-achieved or just a nobody, I feel the urge to write a post here. It’s really disturbing, because when I first started this blog, I didn’t want it this way. At the risk of sounding too spiritual, I wanted to document my life here. I wanted to share every moment that wrapped me in its arms. I didn’t know my readers, still don’t know most of you, but I have faith in the power of the internet.
Four years on, Sweet Dreams In My World has become tarty and a platform for self-therapy. When no one is there to listen, I come back to this.
But writing has healed so many souls; I should be allowed to give it a go. Yes?
All through high school and university, I thought I had control over life. I worked very hard to get good grades, be kind, please teachers, make parents proud and have the best relationships with family and friends. I knew what I wanted, I knew exactly the path I wanted to walk on.
I have always been honest and truthful, to myself and life. But this guy called Karma scared me. I felt he just needed one glitch from my end to use all his energy and jump at me if I went against his will.
Having said that, I don’t mean to say that i’m all perfect. I have done my share of naughty things, like munching on a few pieces of grapes while shopping at the supermarket.
We all have had our moments of ‘oopsies’, so how does this Karma fellow choose the people he wants to hurt? Does he pick the ones who don’t offer their seat to an old lady on the bus or does he choose the ones who eat most number of grapes?
I’ve aimed to be a good kid, for every second of the past 22-years that I’ve lived. But I somehow still managed to fail. Miserably fail. It’s been 18 months, and I am still struggling. Seems as though I am still paying for those grapes.
This ladder of success doesn’t want to make friends with my cloud of dreams. More importantly, it’s moving away from my bubble of happiness. I’m not sure where it’s heading, but it’s one dodgy bastard of a ladder.
I can’t tell the difference between artificial and real happiness anymore, as when I am really happy and content is the same feeling as the moment when I lie in response to the question, ‘How are you?’
When is it worth it? Living away from home since the past five years, having no social life, not being in a relationship… is it really worth it?
It’s become a constant act of giving, giving and giving.
When do you know you’ve made it? Does a tarot card reading tell you that or do you have to pray to God every day?
I pray. Not everyday, but that’s the relationship God and I have. He knows when I am sad or anxious. He sends sunshine when he wants me to be happy. It’s raining in Sydney today, which justifies this post.
This journey has now become one that’s full of unattainable hopes and dreams in all aspects, be it in regards to career, travel, health or love.
How many more late nights is it going to take? How many more weekends do I have to give up? How many more tears? How many of these posts?
A few more grapes to get through… perhaps.