Sometimes, I feel too small for my liking. I feel I’m not enough, like I lack something everyone else has. I look in the mirror and see someone who’s stuck in mediocrity. I feel like I have the potential to be so much more, but don’t know how to unlock it. All around me I see people my age who have accomplished so much and who have done things I’ve always wanted to do, and I can’t help but think, “Am I less than them?”
Apparently, my own answer to that question can very well be one big fat NO, because sometimes, I feel like everything around me is too small for me. I’m too good for this life, I think. Like I’m some all-star basketball player who got drafted into a substandard team. Frustration sinks in and then before I know it, I’m suddenly mad at the world for not applauding my greatness and frustrated with life for giving me so little to work with. I say to myself I’d be better off some place else. Where that place is I do not know, but it’s definitely not here.
Then there are times when I just want to spend the entire day in bed, just staring at the ceiling, waiting for it to crack or fall on me. My pathetic excuse of a willpower tells me I need a break, that working more than 40 hours a week will drain anyone’s energy. All the while my brain scolds me. You lazy, lazy girl, it says. Your own father works longer hours than you but you don’t hear him complaining, do you? But like a true couch potato, I put my brain on mute and turn up the music until it drowns all the feeling of responsibility out. And then I go about doing absolutely nothing…
Only to feel absolutely guilty about it when a bolt of motivation suddenly strikes me. I’m left with this itch that gets worse with every idle moment that passes by and that can only be soothed with any kind of action deemed productive. The checklist comes out and, so help me God, I will cross each and every trivial item on it. Sleep becomes a reward for accomplishing anything and everything that can be done in one day. Feeling less of a human being and more of a waste of oxygen becomes a punishment for accomplishing only 99 out of the 100 things on the to-do list.
And then there are moments when I suddenly feel that the idea of being in a relationship is more disconcerting than appealing, that being single and choosing to remain that way prove how much of a strong and independent individual I am. Around me, I see people who look for love the way they look for a misplaced wallet or something. I know it’s around here somewhere, they seem to say. I look at them and roll my eyes a thousand times. You don’t have any idea how good we have it, I imagine myself telling them.
And yet sometimes, I feel lonely. Just, incredibly lonely. More than anything, I wish I have someone who will hold my hand, someone who will pull me into the warmest of embraces. These are what I miss about being in a relationship – holding someone’s hand, being hugged. I look at my hand, close my eyes and picture my fingers being intertwined with his, and I swear my heart breaks a little when I open my eyes and find an open palm with outstretched fingers. But the one thing I miss most is loving someone. I miss loving someone. I don’t feel lonely because I want to be loved… I feel lonely because I don’t have anyone to love – not the kind of love you can only give to someone who has your heart and who has given you his.
Sometimes, I either put myself on a pedestal or bury myself in the dirt. Sometimes, I either ignore the responsibilities only I can best do or I put the weight of the whole world on my shoulders. Sometimes, I love myself too much that I completely disregard everyone else. And sometimes, I love myself too little that I completely disregard myself.
Only sometimes though.
Most of the time, I feel enough. I feel alright. I feel content. And at peace.