I believe all is well

It is convenient to have a fear of flying when you can’t travel anyway.
All that I will tell myself (and remember in the future) is that I’m not leaving. There will be no major reason; I couldn’t and I (possibly) wouldn’t want to if I could.

It feels familiar. That’s how I spent most of my young life: watching movies, and reading about other places. Yet when I realized I couldn’t travel abroad as a teenager, I began to take note of what would repulse me about what happens “over there”.

I am little uneasy that I am growing into my older self. Growth isn’t supposed to be in circles. You’re supposed to learn and learn until you know almost everything you need to know. So by the time you’re old, everything would seem repetitive and boring because you know everything.

A few days ago, I woke up feeling terrible. I knew I had bad dreams, but I didn’t remember anything. It was helpless misery, and for the whole day I was feeling terrible for nothing that I have committed. It was one of the worst feelings.

I promised myself that I will stop my old habit of believing in the least optimistic view on things. I planned to do it, at least just to show that I’m growing in the traditional sense; growth by not being your past self.
But I’m starting to form an explanation that ties everything together.

There will be many “maybe”s in the next sentences. I don’t want to break my promise, so I’ll just express doubts that I don’t fully believe.

I couldn’t study abroad, that’s the fact.
Maybe my fear of flight is a tool I used to not feel helpless misery. Maybe in those terrible unknown dreams I was just traveling the world. Maybe I haven’t grown in all those years. Maybe I don’t know how to handle this failure better than my 15 year old self.



This is too much caffeine, and you’re probably too awake.
And you are probably more aware than a human ever needs to be.


They say it is a bliss to be able to forget, but I remember.
And they say it’s not good to overthink, but I still wonder.


I see the sun rising, and she seems late when I see her rise.
But she’s not late, and she’s never been.
She rises, as she has risen for thousands of years.


I wonder, will I be as nonexistent in a thousand years as the people who have died a thousand years ago?
Did any of them ask the same question?


When I was younger I was most grateful for simply existing. How unfortunate would it have been if people went to heaven and hell while I had no story? How unfortunate would it have been to be above clouds far from people and stories and issues and youth and old age?


I remember when I read about the scientist who wished he’d never existed, and I remember being shocked at how anyone could wish that.I guess my growth as a person can be summarized by how today I understand deeply why anyone would wish he had never existed.