The Last Straw

Endings are just opportunities for new beginnings. Or so they say.

Funny.

I still remember January like it was yesterday but guess what? It’s December; and I’m turning 22 in 24 hours. And I have a new look for my blog a new look for myself.

It’s been quite a while since I wrote something that directly speaks my mind. Past blog entries, as you can see are mostly a bit dramatic—standing on the line between fiction and reality.

Perhaps, 2012 to me has been that kind of year, confusion between fiction and reality.

It’s like waking up after a long, deep sleep. You open your eyes and ask yourself if it’s real or not.

In the span of—almost—one year, I’ve experienced the agony of being stuck in a work I hated, left a job I’ve had for one year, struggled at controlling alcohol intake, lost self-esteem after resigning,  almost gave up on dreaming, got a new job, got promoted, fell out of love, fell in love, lost my grandma, lost a family, lost friends, gained new ones, got a new pet, lost my mind, and found myself trying to get back on track.

All in one year; and yes I know some people have it worse but it doesn’t change the fact that I have struggled on my own.

In the span of—almost—one year, I pushed people away, took them back in, lied, cheated, bashed, cursed, blamed a phone, blamed a house, blamed destiny; at some point, I even stopped praying but at the end of a long day, there’s no denying that the mistakes I’ve made are mine alone.

They are not products of my shattered dreams or my unkind destiny. It’s a result of my poor decisions and immaturity.

But then there are those mistakes and wrong turns that are caused by simply being human—by simply being human enough to fuck up.

People fuck up all the time.

And if there’s anything I’ve learned this year, it’s that we’re all fucked up pieces of existence—that we make mistakes and sometimes it’s okay to just shrug it off.

I know it’s no time for year-ender but we’re all gonna die on the 21st or was that cancelled?

Anyway, maybe I’m just ready to move on to another year, to another calendar.

Twenty-one is probably the worst decision I’ve made in my life and who knows, if I turn 22 11:18th on December 4, my life will dramatically change and my mistakes will fix itself.

Of course I know it will not happen but wishful thinking doesn’t hurt sometimes.

.

Maybe I have underestimated the power of circumstances.

They really do change people.

The person I am right now is exactly the person I always said I’d never be; and that’s both a good thing and a bad thing. How’s that possible? I wouldn’t know.

But maybe it’s okay to accept your flaws.

In the span of—almost—one year, I’ve realized that when you’ve accepted your cracks and scratches, no one can use them against you.

Insurgent (Veronica Roth)

SG

 

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