Lazy Bones and Exhausted Resolves

Some days I wake up and don’t understand myself. I stare at the ceiling without my glasses on and try to articulate my thoughts that seem as blurry as the vaguely shaped blotches above me. These are the days when clouds look like sinister fire breathing dragons and not ice-creams and cute ducks. These are the days I zone out of every conversation I gingerly encourage myself to get into. These are the days I take long, hot showers and forced, unnecessary naps.

These are the days I feel utterly lost within myself. Stuck endlessly in the labyrinth of my own scrambled thoughts and uncoordinated movements.

This confusion does not stem from an unruly subconscious with unexpectedly dark thoughts or suppressed sentiments. No, I am fairly liberal about how I feel. The root of my recurring frustration is my own ability of shrugging off seemingly important troubles in the blink of an eye. My tendency to deadpan relentlessly when I encounter towering adversity.

I find myself questioning the walls: Why am I so aloof? Why don’t real things matter to me? Am I a cyborg?

These days, I feel like I want to hammer my personality into shape, tightening the lose screws and oiling the rusty parts. To develop talents for exploring the world with a resolve far greater than that needed to finish boring homework. To build strength required for discovering and wondering and laughing recklessly in the face of danger. To learn beyond my years. To care about myself and the people I love.

But then I sigh and snap back to my own little world of unrealized potential and inferiority complexes. I realize my lack of basic life skills required to even mildly take on the world. I feel deeply the lack of faith my closest friends experience as they contemplate entrusting important tasks to my absent-minded, careless self. I feel all the unconditional love I am given tainted with black marks of hesitation and worry as people think thrice before asking somethings of me.

I feel hopeless and lose all my confidence instantly. So much so that I convince myself there is no point in even trying. 

And thus I interlace my world with colorful fiction and dream for fearless protagonists, not my clumsy little self. I build little worlds and lose myself in them.

I make myself forget.

Until I wake up somedays and don’t understand myself. 

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