Lately I've been getting an obnoxious feeling. Despite the ever-growing relationship I have with the people around me--my friends, my family--I've been feeling more and more alone.
Sometimes I think it has something to do with the fact that one of the people I love most in the world now lives seven seas away from me. Or that because as of the moment, all of my closest friends seem to be doing something important with their lives: moving places, stepping up in their careers, gaining titles, or starting a family, while I, I remain. Constant as ever. On some days I feel a chat is in order, if only to share some trivial things, but then I feel I'd rather not. We all have something better to do, and I won't bore anyone with my superficiality. And right now, that is all I have--superficiality.
For the past three weeks, I have also been let down by three, very oddly, similar situations. And so I cannot help but wonder if I've done something to piss the Master of Chances, and how I might make up for it. I am a huge believer of fate, as one may call it, and I used to always say that good things take time, but when you're the one up against it, you find it's a lot harder to practice what you preach.
I turned 23 a few days ago, and against my usual tradition of doing nothing on my birthdays, I wanted this year to be somewhat special; with the intent (and hope) that a sweet, little celebration would also bring about a sweet year. And sweet it was (the birthday). The eve of was spent at a quaint Italian restaurant overlooking a would-have-been majestic view of a lake and mountains if it wasn't night time, with lovely company and the loveliest cake. The day of, on the other hand, was spent with a few more intimate celebrations with the family. And so one would say (actually, one did say), that this little episode is nothing more than a usual case of birthday blues. This has been in my mind for months though, and so I would insistingly defend myself against this accusation, but I won't deny that another factor to this heightened quandary would be the fear of growing another year older and getting absolutely nowhere in life.
I'd like to say that Change is the culprit, but as this is the only constant thing in life, as the saying goes, I think it's people's resistance towards acceptance of change that creates all the unhappiness. For the past year, for example, though I've gained so many new, wonderful friendships, I have learned that some ties just inevitably get harder to hold on to. The old ties that connect us wither, strained by the expanse of space that stretches between us. Like the sixth borough, drifting away into the Arctic, I try to keep empty last words in a tin can in my shelf--right between the boy who seeks a Great Perhaps, and a man who throws the grandest parties in West Egg. Because that's how my life right now feels--stuck somewhere between a hopeful pursuit and a grand event. I can only hope that one day it drifts as well, and finds another shelf to rest upon. Not to sit next to another story, but to be the story an empty tin can would sit next to, waiting to be filled.