A recent talk with a friend catalyzed a sort of process of self-discovery. There are so many questions I needed to ask myself. What makes me space out? What makes me withdraw so bad, that I have to struggle to get some stability back in my life? Why is it always too late when I realise what it was that I did?

I’m impatient, and I push things too hard. I don’t know if that’s considered a bad thing, but I’ll have you know that I cannot sit around and let things take their own course. I just cannot. Can I really be blamed for being too brash and being a go-getter? No, I’m not apologetic at all. If I want something, you can bet your monies on me going all out to get it.

But that’s not quite where the problem lies. The problem is, my idiotic chases take me pretty much to the middle of nowhere (where Courage lives. You know.) And once I acquire this magical object that is the mother of all temptation, I don’t quite know what to do with it. And then I want to move on. The chase nearly kills me, the impatience leaves me emotionally drained, but I need it. I always need something to pursue. Inactivity isn’t part of my essence (been reading too much of Bartimaeus Trilogy. I’m a djinni. No, an afrit!) I switch back and forth between brutal spells of unrest and copious amounts of distress.

I might need to choose between unrest and distress, one of these days. Nothing else will be quite as difficult.

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