New day, new week, new year, new me. That was what I told myself thinking I would change for the better but it only ever stayed the same. The longing hopes to be different laid at the back of my head searching for an escape route but it was lost. Hidden. Trapped.
I only ever realised the day had ended once I’d woken up the next morning, tired, weary, the usual.
Attending these events thinking the company of these lifeless souls were going to change me for good this time only to realise the negatives outweigh the benefits. Woke up the same with an extra side of headaches. I forced these emotions down the toilet as I emptied my stomach because I was emotionless - well at least that’s what everyone thought. Or to rephrase it, at least that’s what I wanted them to think. Threw on a few sprays of this so-called ‘joyful wonder’ perfume and ambled downstairs to a perfect start to my day.
A rough sniff of that strong black coffee was enough to know that my mother had awakened. Glaring straight through her eyes I mutter, ‘morning’, quickly followed with suspicion, ‘are you headed to work this early?’ Tugging on her tight pencil skirt she spins round and surprisingly replies, ‘morning sweetheart, sleep well?’ Scanning her hesitantly, I force a nod and swiftly examine the floor tiles. The clear, cold, lonely tiles. Wishing to just lay there, right where the cold tile meets my warm radiant body. Wishing to be devoured as a whole, to disappear and become unknown like the specks of dust that meet the edge of a vacuum - forever trapped.
I steal a sip of her coffee with the sudden urge to chug it, questioning why I always end up consuming substances despite knowing it tastes the same. It looks the same, makes me feel the same. every. single. time. Yet the thoughts of a different life always swirl at the back of my head, a priority to me - always was. I say was because I am emotionless remember? The so-called, mysterious, passionless figure.
I shake off these imperfections and pace my stomps as I drag my refusing nerves over to my car and head to school. School, the thought of it disgusts me, fills me up with anger but not just normal emotional anger. The sort of anger that’s considered unhealthy and must be controlled. hidden. trapped. The thought of a system designed for humans to all end up being the same, whether it’s being a doctor or engineer or lawyer or taking another route which makes you seen as an outskirt - dropping out. Either way, we go in as unique but end up all being exactly the same.
They go on about how being different is good but is it? No matter how hard we have to change or ‘study’, we as a society have accepted that and it won’t ever be different.
I consider myself curious or have some sort of distinct mind in a way that my head isn’t full of what people call usual. It's more of the weird kind, the kind that would put you into a lower rank at school. The kind I hide because I wouldn’t be accepted or even looked at anymore. Even though I’d prefer not to be, I need some sort of human interaction, whether it's accidentally making eye contact with these everlasting glares of disgust or just inhaling the same air.
But study they say, you’ll succeed. Yet I still seem to not know what studying is?
The process of memorising a few concepts just to be forgotten the second you hand in that exam paper. Or the process that deteriorates your brain, fills it up with useless data so that no person is ever capable of thinking outside of the normal. It’s a way of keeping us less curious, less questionable, less suspicious. But okay professor, so what if I study or pass an exam, where will I end up? The successful path that was designed for not just me but every other human despite encouraging us to be ‘different'? The path that we are meant to believe is what defines ‘success’.
Reading all these novels about dystopian worlds, forcing us to believe that our world could never be seen in this way but it's no different. In fact, in a way, it's worse. So much worse. Simply because we’re ignorant, we know so little yet are filled with so much. We don't choose to be clueless but are compressed into the mould that ticks off the criteria of being human. The criteria, that we as a society have made, simply to demolish ourselves and then complain about it? ‘Sounds like a you problem’, is what my mother would have declared as she detached herself from the equation, the equation that builds up my vacant life that she no longer seems to be a part of, hmph.
31st December. New day, new week, new year, new me. That was what I told myself yearly hoping for change. No, begging for a different life. Or for none at all...