BFF

Music: Chop Suey – System Of A Down 

I have begun to concede that I am a failure. I feel like one, think like one and maybe tomorrow, I’ll start to live like one. After yesterday’s fiasco, I wondered if I even have it in me to excel in this continuous treadmill of a world. What made it worst was that I could have avoided being a failure but no, I had to go change my answers. I just had to second guess myself. That’s what failures do, don’t they? They second-guess themselves and their instincts and their gut. There are ubiquitous adages in all forms about believing in yourself and trusting your instincts and following your gut. After all, that’s what successful people do. They just go for it.  Me? I doubted myself and I ended up a failure.

 I am nowhere close to attaining my degree. Everything I’ve done in college the past 6 months was to make up for my lack of interest and the failed modules that that lack of interest garnered me. I have no paper skills to be proud of; no certification or anything that might help actually help put food on my table in the future. I haven’t mastered the guitar and I’m too lazy to even go collect and fix it up so I can actually go for lessons. I haven’t written in months and months and words that used to flow like liquid chocolate now come out contrived and stale. See, even now at this very moment when I’m writing about what a huge failure my life is, I’m at a loss for words. I haven’t started investing and yet, I would have lost money if I had invested in the European Property Securities fund that I picked out weeks ago to be a worthy investment. Isn’t that swell? I do have so much to be proud of.  I’m such a failure I am even incapable of coming up with a new plan for the month since the old plan for July had to be scraped because of my BFF yesterday. That’s right, my BIG FAT FAILURE.

I now wonder about the upcoming days and how to fill them. There will be no such question if I wasn’t such a failure. I’m not only a failure; I’m also a coward and a procrastinator. I don’t even have enough drive to search for my deferment letter and find out just exactly when I have to serve the nation. I don’t even have to balls to want to know when I need to do that. Because the most frightening thing about it all is that when the time comes for me to serve the country sooner than I anticipated (due to a change of plans and the inability to carry out the plans I had for myself) and I haven’t finished college, it will all amount to nothing in the end and I really would be a bloody motherfucking failure. What will I have to show for? The trips I have taken? The people I have met? The lessons learnt? What will that get me? What can I exchange all that for? It will eventually catch up with me and right now, I’m such a coward I’m afraid I will drown when the tide rises. I have nothing that I can buoy with. Nothing I can steer with when the waves approach and when they proceed to swallow me.  

I’m retreating back to the space in that particular moment in Amsterdam when on the caviar of psychedelic mushrooms; I wondered why we all work so hard for when we all amount to nothing when we leave this world. When every emotion felt and every amount of effort put into attainting something more and bigger and better, is ephemeral when you think about it. Because death is the inevitable outcome of this life; no matter your last name or the color of your skin or the size of your bank account or your intellectual capacity or the names in your little black book or the healthiness of your diet everyday. Because we can’t take anything with us when death knocks on that proverbial door. Because we all return to square one when we die. So why bother? Why even move on? Why even try eclipsing when you know it wouldn’t even matter when you’re gone? Why do spent hours fretting about how we look and how much we weigh even when we know we will eventually be nothing but nutrient for greens. Why do we care when people judge and point when in eventuality, it wouldn’t matter because we’ll all end up the same way. Why believe in love when it will hurt more when the people you love die? Why continue to clock in the hours living this life when we know we will never have all the answers to the questions we desperately seek for? Why why why?   

Why you ask if, after writing all that down and still having to live, do I not simply kill myself? Well, I did tell you I was a coward and hence, that naturally comes with the territory but the bigger reason why I’m not hosting a pharm party or jumping off the apartment building is because I am a failure and I know, deep down; despite all my sentiments, that I will still fail at killing myself. Now what could be worst than that?