Growing up is hard, I’d like to say.
You grow up with certain values and ideas and your heart is filled with these fascinating theories about friendship and love. But suddenly, one random fine day, you realize it’s absolute nonsense. You learn to realize that you’re expected to adjust to the world and that it’s not the other way round.
I’m eighteen. What do I know, right?
But hey, I’m allowed to brood over my life and I’m allowed to ponder over things whilst in the shower. (I don’t sing in the shower anymore because the boy-next-door can hear me and he seemingly acknowledges it by smirking at me.) Anyway, back to my wannabe-philosophical post about life and all its sad contents, about the Universe and how I’d like to believe that there’s more than just one.
Sometimes, I’m convinced that I should just throw my hands up in the air, tuck myself into bed and stay away from humans altogether. No one could accuse me of things then, now could they? There wouldn’t be any drama to be associated with and I wouldn’t have moments where I want to tear down everything around me.
I know, I know. I’m too dramatic. And perhaps whiny. But no one said you have to read the rest of this. The world is a place is of apparent freedom, anyway.
My ideals of friendship, of trust and of overall humanity are dying. I want to hate anybody who spoke of fairytales to me while I was growing up and I’m close to despising this concept of hoping against all odds.
Did you think this post was too short, too abrupt, too negative, oddly personal and absolutely nonsensical?
That’s what I think too.