(15/06/25. 19:53 WIB)
The least you can do is get rid of your egoistic nature. Otherwise, keep yourself kilometers away from me. Option #3: Live with your guilt.
“What else is there?
Generations of sacrifice; hard work and harder living. So much suffered, so much forfeited, so much—for this opportunity. For my life. And I’ve tried, tried living up to it. But after years of struggling, fighting against the current, I’m ready to slow my arms. Stop kicking. Breathe the water in. I’m exhausted. Perhaps it’s time to end this story.”— Natasha Brown in Assembly
I haven’t stopped crying and I’m not a psychic.
Maybe you and I aren’t very different at all. You want it to be perfect, so do I. The perfect this and that and everything else in between. Maybe we are the same because we both constantly find ways to fulfill our cravings. Your way, my way.
Reasons make us different. Different eyes. Different goals.
Different problems.
I’ve been taking the truth in shots and now I want to throw up. It’s bitter, but I can take it. It doesn’t get sweeter—it never gets sweeter. Hold on… Now I can’t feel anything. Now I wanna run a marathon. Do a high kick. Throw my phone. Crash my car—oops sorry! Your car. That’s a way to get out! Now… ??? Now is not the time I don’t know when the right time is I don’t know if there even is a right time???????? Nauseous and crying and feeling very stupid for even considering this challenge. I just got another shot handed to me. Why am I taking it? Why am I even doing this? Is this a game? Is there a prize? How can a prize be promised when I can’t even see it (it wasn’t promised I just believe that it always has been).
[insert weird, nonsensical metaphor about how you haven’t been taking shots with me because you’re sooo religious / how it’s condemned just like the way I’ve been acting].
Who wants to go to Penang with me on June 27 until 29? One slot just opened. Plane tickets and hotel are on me.
I can remove your name but on paper we’d still be on the same page (we could never be, though).
It’s bitter and sad and pitiful and I wish you’d pity me more. I know you’d ask me to do the same but how can a mere sacrifice feel?
We are different because there is always the bigger person and that person is me. [insert slightly offensive metaphor about size because you’re sooo obsessed with it / are you happy now that I’m bigger than you?].
I’ve stopped crying but right now I’m just angry.
— S. N.
breaking my spine 