today i couldn't help feeling like something is missing. as an emptiness inside, maybe a lack of connection with myself, despite looking around and realizing i have everything i have always wanted. i guess that might be the poison of my generation - we are never satisfied. and there's a certain beauty in discomfort, like a fire that keeps us chasing for more, towards a better version of ourselves. but there's also a fear that we'll never be good enough, or that things around us will never please. could it be that life is happening in the smallest things and we are letting it slip away by blindly chasing the unachievable? particularly i have always thought that being alive is being in movement. towards a better job, a better salary, a better health, a better body. in fact, that same thought is what brings me to write, towards a better understanding of the world inside (and around) me... it's almost controversial. maybe it all boils down to balance. but why is balance so hard to find?
