I walked on a daily path constantly in dispute with my own self. Sometimes, I do consider the existence of  a dualistic personality within me but at most- I know it was only my ego I was talking to. I laid off smoking and alcohol when I chose the pen and paper but the other me- the illusionary me is completely drown on those vices. However, it was she who keeps telling me the words I must write, of which , I don’t exactly know what they mean. The deformity of my physical being, guided by two mindset, was left on a confused state. One day I found myself blabbering something unconsciously while walking but sure I was aware of what I was talking about- only that it was obviously weird for one to talk with no one talk with while walking. At this very moment, I am perplexed on what to do. She wanted me to write and so I do but at most, my being, as others had raised me- always come in between and question my actions. The me which others had built kept on reminding me about the impossibility of things especially when my ego says and ardently encouraged me to do – that I must only write and keep on writing.

I can never be a writer nor find a writing job- that’s what the old and sober me says. Thus implying my need to find a ‘real’ job which I honestly hate anyway. For security purposes, people do that of which they hate and undoubtedly, that’s the struggle I’m always caged at. Living is futile indeed and something I cannot escape from as I utterly spent my days on sadness, loneliness, and misanthropic behavior.