I keep telling myself that I'm okay, trying to understand my predicament (single) either by design or by choice.
I use say that I have to study well because it's easier. High grades are a challenge but at least your efforts are rewarded. Then I graduated college with latin honors. All I have is a degree and a one night stand with someone that I considered lovely.
I say that I should get a decent job, a good paying one at least I could buy something - gratify myself every time I see romance across my work space, across the table while my good friend brings his boyfriend for dinner, at the backseat seeing my sister with her lover being nice and all as they give me a free ride home. The world conspires by design or by choice to give me a glimpse of something that I want (or use to - I don't know).
Sometimes I feel that I am use to the set-up. I get up in the morning, listening to the latest pop song of teenage dream that I dream of having but never will as I am pass the age. I get drinks with old friends asking them about love - brushing of the idea every time we hear failed relationships and unrequited love. A momentary empowerment wherein I feel that I am someone that doesn't need a man. Then I go home, open my laptop and listen to the music that tells me otherwise. I sit in my room and think about the choices that I made and how the universe conspires. Why? Because I need a reason. Why is it that I am still...myself. Why am I still trying? Still at that stage feeling that nothing has change, nothing has improved. I am still myself.
Then another lie of some sort will enter my head (a defense mechanism if you will). Perhaps the universe is saving you for someone special. Perhaps you have yet to do something good and meaningful with your life. Perhaps you have yet to save a child from hunger or end poverty in Africa. I don't know.
Drowning myself with lies and distractions. I have been doing the routine for quite sometime now. I've gotten good grades, now I'm getting overworked so I can numb the struggles. The never ending questions as to why am I still not deserving. Maybe the guy got hit by a truck. At least let me know so I could at least not expect nothing and seize my hopes that one day you'll walk into my life and whisk me away like one of the Disney princesses I've seen when I was five years old.
I'm okay. I keep telling myself that I understand my predicament. It's either by design or by choice.