Sagrada Familia

So, with the whole festivities and the holidays over, everyone is already back to their regular programming, despite having gone through the New Me, New Resolutions phase. I made promises to myself too about starting some form of hobby or habit. Working out, eating healthy, whatever. We all have that feeling of guilt about not pushing to be better versions of ourselves. It sucks because there's this looming pressure, as if you're not doing enough. It was like that for a while. It took a lot of convincing myself that I don't have to fit anyone else's expectation of me anymore. The only person I need to please is myself.

I was exhausted. Mentally I was never suited to be around people for so long. I went against it during those rebellious years, trying to fit in yada yada ya. I preferred being on my own, just observing life in peace. I didn't consume my time with entertainment as I would have liked. My choice of solace had often been a pen and a paper, or listening to conversations from afar. I was curious always about what could be, the possibilities of life. In an observer's perspective. I just simply enjoyed listening and being around people who were sure of themselves. 

Anywho, I still do prefer being on the sidelines. I just prefer that people choose to tell me all about their story, instead of just being around when they happen to remember it.

I wonder if they realize I am always so interested in the lives of others, and I'm grateful to be just a passerby in their stories they would tell.

An interpretation on life from an inexperienced 13-year-old child

Life sucks ass.
No joke.
I don’t know where life goes.
I don’t know what happens when I die.
I don’t even dream.
I don’t hold real feelings.
I don’t even know if who I am is who I want to be.
I don’t know if I can manage in the future with these issues.
I don’t know much about the world.
I don’t hold the experience and don’t know how to get it.
The thrill of the exploration doesn’t excite me.
It doesn’t interest me.
I feel that I’ve experience a lot of things but the things that stick are dull and empty.
It may seem sad but the more and more I think about things deeper the sadder I get.
There is no output for me.
Suicide is not a thing for me.
It’s more an endless walk waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting for what?
I don’t know.
Time runs slowly but fast.
It’s not a puzzle it’s just what happens.
I speak in this weird way but it’s my thoughts.
Judge me but in the end you will forget.
Everyone does.
Memories fade away.
Relationships deteriorate.
I die.
But I don’t.
Where is the passion.
My passion in work isn’t enough.
The fire people say.
It doesn’t last forever it doesn’t interest me.
It doesn’t gravitate to me.
Still running around and looking around.
Shaking hands and making deals.
But it’s only temporary.
The void of excitement is null.
Where do I go?
I have no answers.
People don’t understand.
Or they understand but this train of thought it too much.
Why do we live like this?
Such shallow waters with no real diving.
Safe living is great, I guess.
Go challenge yourself do this do that.
Go neck yourself.
I’m not accepting of that.
Is that why?
But I am open.
Too open.
Sometimes it hurts.
But the scars already run deep.
I don’t want to talk about this.
But talking helps.
But shame lingers.
Need for approval rises.
I’m better than that.
I should care about myself, but I know it’s wrong.
This talk is tiresome.
Why are you reading?
Did you learn anything?
Who am I?
A collective thought of persons unknown but known around you.