There comes a time in your life when you find yourself in the middle of a forking path, and deciding what road to take just seems so pointless. That whatever it is that you choose would still lead you to a more winding and meandering maze of uncertainties and utter dismay. Well, welcome to 31–the age of in-between.
It’s been ages since I last blogged about stuff that happened in my life recently. Nothing spectacular though except that I devoted most of my time to visual arts and I almost abandoned my Muse. I have been preoccupied with school and I succumbed to its fucked upness. Considering the issues that my ear let pass and those hullabaloos that have been going around, I just want to confine myself in my room and spend the whole day reading or writing or painting. Something to expunge my angst and, well, insensitivity.
It’s so unnerving to have reached this kind of age. Not to mention, confusing. When you reach thirty one and all the questions in life are bombarded against you, how hellish can it get? Sometimes you just wish you weren’t born at all. Yes. I guess it’s true. Life can betray you sometimes. When you are a teenager, you’d think that all the convenience in life is set like a fabulous banquet and people whom you love can just reach out their hands and say “It’s okay, you’ll get through it.” But when you get over thirty, you will feel like you are on top of a ravine and those hands can just push you off until you fall and be driven by the current of the raging river. When you are thirty, you are on your own. You have to face life. Alone. Despite the people around, somewhere, deep within yourself, a lacuna is waiting to be filled up and you don’t even have a germ of idea how. And it sucks. It really sucks. Being thirty one, that is.