past & beauty,
i’m reminded of my old “box” that i left with my bestfriend many many years ago. i told her she can throw it out, but she insisted to keep just this one diary of mine for years, because she thought it was too time-invested and precious to throw out. i wonder if she still has it now.
ever since my bestfriend left for europe by herself, i’ve been nostalgic about us, and i wish i was there with her right now, wandering the streets of england, paris mindlessly. i know something as spectacle as the sight of the sparkling eiffel tower at night would certainly make all of my useless side-thoughts to disappear.
instead, here i am, experiencing the same old. if grenada was new and exciting last august, now it’s already becoming the “same old”. nothing spectacle about that. i guess partly, it’s my fault. i’ve made it boring.
and now, i’m kind of tired of it. not necessarily of grenada. but i’m kind of tired of myself. the same old. at least years ago, when i wrote in that diary, i was still hopeful, i liked myself, actually, i really really did like myself. i liked what i saw and what i felt, and i wrote ‘em all down. one by one. it was my own fairy tale. and i was the princess. but now, it’s the reality. it’s nothing like a fairy-tale and no more fantasies. i’m disappointed, and i can’t get out of it. i feel like i’m adjusting to this grey reality, and i’m losing what i once thought was my best attribute: dreaming hopelessly.
i want to get out of here. and it drains me to know that reality tells me i can’t, and i’m stuck here.