Underneath it all,

is it just written into our DNA?

If you catch the reference, it would make me happy.

I have realised that many things are not a matter of if I can, but if I want to.

This is the same for everyone.

Most people are capable of murder, in a physical sense – but what keeps us from doing so?

I know. I know it’s a weird thing to talk about but if you’re looking at someone right now – imagine how easy it would be them to close their hands around your neck and

s q u e e z e.

You would put up a fight.

You could die.

I am reminded of an American crime serial where someone was murdered with bare hands. I divulge not the gory details – but there seems to be no limit to human violence.

The human capacity for violence is unfathomable.

But this can be said for love as well, no?

That is why there should be hope in the world.

But hope, unlike violence and love – we often see the limit of hope.

And that makes people sad, doesn’t it?

Helping people who need the help, who want the help, who could do the help, often isn’t about whether you ‘can’ or if you ‘want’ to.

I want to want to help. I will try.

But that does not make me a good person.

Indeed depending on who you ask, I could be a very bad person indeed. Though if you were to ask me, “Why do you consider yourself to be bad?” then there are many things I would not tell you, yes?

It could be a curious amalgamation of not being sure what is ‘bad’ and ‘good’ and actually having done things I know are wrong.

Is ‘bad’ a state, or a label that is pasted on you the moment you step out of line?

I have renounced a couple bad things – but I do not know when I might fall back on them should the time arise.

I have never claimed to be a good person. But that is the kind of person I would like to strive to be.

Having never claimed to be a good person is different from saying openly that “I am a bad person.”

Sometimes I look at people seriously and tell them so.

“I am not a good person.”

But this is different from saying to them, “I am a bad person.”

The former is trying to correct a misconception that one is straightforwardly “good” because, not a single person in this world would be able to claim that. Right?

I keep holding onto this belief that there are truly good people in this world who have no character flaws but that’s the nature of people.

I have a friend who I talk to sometimes.

They remind me not to be afraid of people and not to ever be confused but to love and to love endlessly and to our limit.

That’s what some of my friends are like. I am worried about people like that friend. I wonder if they get back enough love to be able to give and keep giving.

Maybe you’re wondering why I’m moody today..?

Uh. So. As you may remember, I went for 4 MUNs last month. And that is asking for trouble. I got trouble.

I failed my Economics exam pretty badly. And Math, which never lies, tells me very honestly that I am not doing well at all.

Math and numbers don’t lie – there is never any excuse to be made for Math.

I don’t compare my marks too much. Maybe, I’m too scared to ask, to realise that I’m last in class, but I don’t have to do that to think that I am last in class at least for Econs.

It hurts a little.

For one subject, I went to see my teacher and our conclusion was that I should go home and memorise the materials they sent.

It’s funny how nice and personable that teacher is – but I feel targeted and hurt, anyway.

Or is not very funny?

I’m not sure how to feel. It is my fault I didn’t revise, of course, but I do not feel for them the way I feel criticism – deeper and more painful, as if they attack the basis of my existence.

Every waking/breathing/living moment is a critique of the person I have become.

Sometimes I look at the life I have constructed for myself – a vase filled with sand placed on a table.

I want to topple the vase over and watch the sand pour out listlessly and stream out over the table, and roll in circles on the 2D plane and roll off the edge of the table – becoming realised at the moment that the heavier base will strike the floor and shatter into a thousand pieces.

Time sand.

If I were to keep running,

would there be a day where I wouldn’t have to anymore?

If I were to keep hiding,

would there be a day where I wouldn’t be able to anymore?

 

Should I keep running,

if there will be a day where I cannot anymore?

Or should I keep hiding,

knowing someday I could be found?

 

Rather than run or hide,

should I actively seek out my own demise,

so that my death, on no uncertain terms,

is my mine and mine alone?

 

Yes and no answer these questions.

But I do not know.

 

 

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