Loud Mind, Quiet Words

What am I doing with my life? Like, actually, what the actual frick. I’m here sitting in my calculus lecture hall typing away just to get these thoughts out of my head. Sure, I ranted to my brother about how useless I am and how I probably need therapy on the walk here but there’s still so many thoughts going through my mind.

What am I actually doing here? I’m studying things that I’m barely interested in because I wanted to get into university so my parents (or mostly me) wouldn’t have to worry about me becoming a NEET or a thirty year old that just lives in their basement and leeches off them for the rest of my life. At the rate I’m going and the path my mind’s taking, that future doesn’t seem so far fetched anymore. I have no idea what I want to do in the future. I’m only taking sciences because they were the subjects I sucked the least at in high school. I really should have taken a gap year just to figure out what path I wanna take. Instead, here I am, having a small pity party as I wait for the lecture to begin.

I don’t have the financial knowledge, qualifications, or culinary skill to open up a bakery or cafe. I’m not fit or brave enough to become a police officer. I’m far too anxious to be in the position to save someone’s life like a doctor, EMT, or nurse. I don’t have the patience or knowledge to become a researcher or scientist. I don’t have any redeeming qualities. I don’t have enough passion or work ethic to do anything really. I’m procrastinating on all the work that matters for my grades and doing things that won’t get me anywhere in life like making mediocre art or writing shitty blog posts to vent.

Oh

What beautiful light you give

Small, contained yet full of warmth and brightness

They are drawn to your flame

So brighter you shine to light the way

Little do you know that

Slowly

Surely

Certainly

Your light will fade

Shrinking as time goes on

Like moths chasing the stars, they will leave

For a brighter spark

While you are left to flicker

Dimming

Darkening

Dying

Until you are nothing of your former self

Your beautiful light just a wisp of smoke

Gone

The sky slowly darkened as the sun set, ending what happened to be another typical Monday for Cecile. There she sat, on the couch next to her needy puppy, seemingly doing her coursework as she was cooking dinner in the kitchen. Except, Cecile wasn’t doing any work at all. Her relaxed demeanour while slowly typing away at her laptop was all a ruse.

While her head bobbed to the tunes coming from her unreasonably large headphones, she had a word document opened to her unfinished lab report on one tab and a google page opened on the other. “How to become a bartender in XX City” was typed into the search bar. Dozens of tabs were opened off to the side, opened to many pages explaining laws, licences, and requirements to become a bartender.

Was she really planning to become a bartender? Possibly. Was this random urge to search up jobs that were completely unrelated to what she was studying in university brought upon by the fear and anxiety of not knowing what she wanted to do in the future and that she was studying stuff she didn’t want to because she didn’t know what else to do? That’s also pretty likely. But who knows? Certainly not her. She was just having one anxiety-ridden thought after the other, wondering if anything she was doing would be worth it in the long run.

She was not really “good” at anything. She had potential, sure, but her lack of motivation and fear to do what she wanted held her back. Her marks in her first semester at University of XX were mediocre at best and barely passing at worst. She, of course, lied to her parents, telling them she was doing ok. In reality, however, she was constantly stressing about deadlines for papers and projects that she always left to the last minute due to the several hours of depression naps that she had everyday and other unscheduled crises where she pondered why she was such a disappointment . Why couldn’t she be a good student? Why was she always slacking off? She had so many more opportunities that other more deserving students could have yet there she was, wasting it all. She was a privileged kid from a family that always had enough to eat (though sometimes she had too much) and could afford the luxuries of having her parents pay for a lot of the things she wanted and receiving allowances.

She was aware of how much she had in comparison to others, which is also why she felt so guilty and anxious all the time. She could be using all the time not needing to work multiple jobs just to afford higher education to actually study and pass the courses her parents paid for or actually doing something productive. Yet here she was, dwelling on the past, wishing that she had the same drive and passion for learning creating that eighth grade Cecile had.

Eighth Grade her loved to draw, sing, read, and write. She was a try hard that would actually do her work on time, heck, even do it early, draw up her own comics, start endless amounts of stories that she hoped would one day get published. She had straight A’s and loved talking to her teachers about anything. She still had her anxieties, sure, but she loved showing others her creations. Her parents were proud of her. They used to brag to her relatives with such joy in their eyes, saying “Look! Look at what Cecile drew! Look at the awards she got!” Not to say that they don’t love her now but she could tell she was no longer someone they could brag about. At least not in comparison to her much more successful younger cousins who could somehow balance extracurricular sports and schoolwork and their social lives and yet somehow still manage to get good grades.

She was no longer the golden child and it hurt knowing that. She no longer knew how to achieve her dreams. How to go back to those days where she had the motivation to thrive instead of living day by day, hoping each day would just end so she didn’t have to worry about assignments that were due days ago. She had no reason to try anymore. The passion that drove her to become something, someone had dried up long ago, dashed by her own insecurities. Any music that was played by her now or art that was drawn was just a frugal attempt to revive her long dead dreams. She could never be a comic artist, right? That required actual talent. There are Twelve year olds that could draw better than her. That could write far more interesting stories. That could play instruments and sing more beautifully. There are people who actually deserve to be where she is right now. Hard workers that could do so much for the world but don’t have the chance because they don’t have the resources. Brilliant minds that should take her place.

This day today is a fire amidst a storm

Her guiding light bringing direction in the chaos

Her happy hopefulness different than my dreadful despair

That playful puppy-like presence now past

The guiding light of her fire now gone

Her last summer sunset bringing cold and dark

Now only guided by the light of the moon