fourth year dhanur sapolia

There I was, a million things going on in my head, all these voices in my head, but I was silent. I felt like a half-person, a shadow. I have a hard time acting on my thoughts. I have great ideas, but that’s pretty much all they remain. Abstract, unreal, unimportant.

I am a hard worker, or at least that’s what I’ve told myself all these years. I think it’s one of those empty phrases, something you say just to pass the time. I have hobbies, but I’m not really good at any of them. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be an expert at something. What must it feel like to do something so well that the task just feels like an extension of your own body? I bet those people are happy, maybe that’s how I can be happy too.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not depressed. I’ve have days where I feel on top of the world and others where I feel the opposite of that metaphor, but most days I’m okay. But that can’t be all there is. There has to be some type of journey that leads me to being happy all of the time! I mean if not, what’s the point of all of this? Why would I, or anyone, do anything? Why do people climb mountains? Why do people run marathons? Why to people jump out of planes? They must be chasing something that makes them feel truly alive. I bet those people are happy, maybe that’s how I can be happy too.

Rush