Still.

If good opportunities will take a long time yet to come, perhaps never, I’d take a deep breath and exhale a long sigh, hanging on to the things I've always wanted to do.

I might continue doing something I thought I would come to love.. It’s evil, literally toxic, yet so hard to refuse. But it failed me because I’m never good at it, I’m not quitting yet so fast, but sooner or later I will, so no worries.

I will start counting blessings instead of sheep—ish failures, for they are not worth a second of time, and not worth of any tears.

I will speak of the brutal words I long to utter. I would say to her “stop faking yourself and start accepting who you really are”, I would say to him “I am not your princess” and I would say to another him “I was never your daughter anyway”.

I may not have the luxuries I desire, but I have the miseries I am very much inspired of, thanks to those who pushed me down to my knees and pray.

We always have a choice.

And I chose this. I chose to be still, just as my life is enjoying its every minute of stillness. Not being able to sing, to laugh and to speak the words that can almost turn into word vomit.


I chose to remain on the sight and perspective of being a loser (for lack of a better term), because in this viewpoint I can stare at the stars, glance at even the minute details of its spark to its overwhelming brightness, and after that, I can fall asleep, dreaming I'd be the star. When I wake up, and finally someone would notice the flickering light I emit, perhaps the good opportunity that had been long awaiting, I’d be genuinely be grateful for the losses, for the mishaps, and for the choice of stillness that I have made.