Feeling lost.

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It has been almost eighteen years since I was born. Don’t you agree that, looking back at it, it seems shorter? Can you really tell how your life was? Would you say you lived a good, or a bad life? We live in a time where the highlights of our lives can be shared with a click. Are those really my most precious memories? But, most importantly, are those the moments where my personality, and in general, myself was shaped? Formed in a way?

Anniversaries are built for those details that just don’t align with your birthday. But, in fact, we can all agree those are the ones where you were really born. To be honest, another year is just another number. And if you know me a bit, you know I’m not into those. It isn’t about the numbers, but what you do with them. Do you really feel your age? How is it like to feel a certain number?

That is the problem with my soul. I don’t understand the pressure, and the desire to feel something preset. Something already built for someone. Something fake. Why do you want to live in a box that was not made your size, that doesn’t fit you? There is so much pressure in this society to just fit, no matter the pain, no matter the suffering. Laziness runs individuals making them not follow dreams because of the initial effort, even if that means going through a life of fakeness and lost of themselves.

What if I don’t want to fit? Is really that what makes people successful or does success require a different box? Am I determined to fail into society’s standards or just life in general? Am I too rebel for life, or just too strong for it? I guess it is a problem not knowing what you want. Seeing people with so much faith in a goal, so many stable dreams… And there I am. Waiting for a dream that doesn’t exist. Trying to resolve a question not even made. But I keep looking for it like if it was there, somewhere in some exotic place or someone else’s mouth.

The past eighteen years I’ve been listening to different ideology people. I’ve been visiting different places, trying different cultures, religions… memorizing how I felt in every place. Trying to find my Great Perhaps. It is this number of years the ones that have been designed for us to do it, but, going into this new age, I was supposed to have already some answers. To be found. But I am still searching. Searching for… what?

A few days ago I stopped to think, which is something strange in today’s society. I tried to find an answer to my inexistent question. Saying I got a lot of answer would be lying but, I at least found something out.

Shortly after my sixteenth birthday things started sprinting. If we think of life as a marathon, I was running my fuel out in the first meters of the run. Leaving every known territory behind. Passing my mates in light time. And without realizing, I was half way there. Too soon to be at the finish line. Having lost all the atmosphere. All the people around me. All the good in the path. And there I was, alone, still running with some lonely souls around my space. There is where I stand today. In a nearly empty road. Doubting if continuing running is a good idea, or I should just start walking. Realizing that , somewhere in the way, I didn’t only lost all I had, but also all I was.

So, was I looking for a question? An adventure? Or myself? And, to this day, the only question that I could find is… Have I been looking for someone who doesn’t want to be found or that doesn’t exist?