I’m about to be 18 years old, yet my life is still a cold place.
My life is an Arctic wasteland, where the winds howl harshly and visitors hardly stay. Those who come either die or thrive, but the latter rarely happens.
Over the course of the last 10 years, my life has started to frozen. The effects of the blue pill started to slowly, but surely, succumb to the overbearing taste of reality, with my own dreams fighting the onset, with futile efforts.
Occasionally, a shining beacon of light travels into the abyss of darkness that is now the nerve centre of my life. It gives me a sense of revitalising hope, that maybe one day I could revert back to the old happy me.
But, the light that enter the sinking abyss, will cease to exist as the coldness was too harsh for it warmth, and its carcass joins the rest of those who have hope to change me, but sadly, failed.
I was able to enjoy the warmth of the light on my face in years, but yet I had taken it for granted. I told myself that the light at the end of tunnel had arrived and that abyss was now lighted and littered with bits of joy.
But, I prematurely ended the biggest warmth that happily graced my life for 1 1/2 years with my very own frozen heart and my very own hands.
As I approach my 18th birthday, my life is warming up. My crew had entered my life and hated me for who I was, but yet they stayed on and is thriving. I have learnt to take care of the people who have taken care of me.
Yet, the nerve centre that controls my dreams and thoughts are still frozen. It’s still stuck in the ice age of isolation and dominated by my cold hearted personality that always seems to be in the defence when I try to make new contact with new people and new hope.
Sometimes, I find the loneliness in this cold and harsh wasteland comforting. Being alone means I have lesser people to disappoint, to upset, to offend. Lesser hearts to break, lesser expectations to fail.
I can never seem to be popular, but it seems that my psychological ecosystem can’t take the load and responsibilities of being popular. I can try to be, but that’s pretentious and it will always backfire on me.
At the end of the day, I get up every morning and tell myself that each day will get better, that the harsh wastelands of my life will one day be thriving, constructed by my favourite memories and cemented by friends who have found the nice side of me.
But till then, when people ask me “Have you have no heart?!”
I will still stare them in the eye and say:
“I used to, but now it’s gone”