less about me, and more about others.

I have been in many circumstances that I shy away from interactions because I think it should not be that way.

I tend to run away from recognition, or even appreciation because most of the times I fell short of my target and it is easy to make myself the target of the target.

Sooner, I became detached. I despised awards, I even despised my own birthday, up to a point. Because I think I don’t deserve them.

But not all revolves me. Certainly when it is about others. I try to be empathetic towards others that I think their joyous occasions petty. I hate that I keep doing so, seating on my made-up pedestal, looking down on people’s moment of bliss.

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coffee, books and money.

But coffee sometimes makes me spend more than I should. Or makes my sleep harder.

Books sometimes make me frustrated when I cannot finish it. Or when I found it boring.

Money makes me happy. But it also makes me want to spend more, which will then make me unhappy

Being happy is such an overrated feeling. It is an overstatement — especially when that chemical explosion you feel just makes you feel so bad later. When the high is too high, the fall is going to be epic too.

So I am asking myself, would be content is the key here? How to make peace with everything that is happening around you, whether it makes you happy or unhappy?

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To wake up in the morning is a mortal struggle

It doesn’t care how many hours of sleep I put in

The weariness loyally awaits

The dread, the hate,

The silence berates

Replaying images I never had

Oh how I wish to open my eyes,

Without the urge within

To close them awry

When the silence befalls

There it goes again.

It doesn’t care how may hours I put in.

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