Fingers sprinting across the keyboard, furiously typing out the essays to be handed in the next day; clocking in and out for the day, everyday; going to do the same old thing, repeating, like a routine, every single day.

“What’s the point?”

I started to ask myself this question months back in an effort to combat my lack of productivity in the dreaded days. Drained from the treachery that I had chosen with my poor choices, I was losing grip of myself.

“What’s the point of all these?” I questioned myself.

“What’s the point of going to school?” Torture myself from inside out? Or to just get the certificate?

“What’s the point then if it is killing you? What’s the point in doing something that you do not like, something that is limiting you?”

“What’s the point?”

I kept asking myself, slowly revealing more of the repercussions of my poor choices. Reversing time was impossible, converting myself into a person with greater grit might be possible.

The shadows of regret, disgrace were the commonplace of my current flow of life. Writing only acted as a getaway, a common ground for me to exhibit, to practise, to enhance myself in articulating what was inside my head.

The grind is tough, coupled with the destructive nature of school- the ultra killer for creativity- I am barely pulling this shit off. There were times that I went into a major recession, more like a depressed period, but I learned to shake it off.

Patience and perseverance are the keys to whatever future that lies ahead of me. I just needed to do more, more and more, and more than I am capable of while not being killed in the process.

Fear struck me as this abominable thought arose, If my creativity was killed in the process of getting this paper, is this all worth that I sacrificed? What if all of this are gradually pulling me into conformity where I would just live a normal, banal life?

“What’s the point?”

“Why am I still doing this?”

“Really what’s the point of all these?”

I do not envision myself making out of this alive, at least mentally. My creativity would be destroyed at the time, no, my creativity at this point of life is more or less dead, all thanks to the system that I bound myself to. I brought all of these to myself, I must bear all the consequences, and using my own grit to climb out, to resurrect myself from death itself.

“What’s the point?”

“What’s the point?”

“What’s the point?”

Stop. There is no point at all. 

I make mistakes, I am human too.

Just let all of these pass, I want to re-live, re-vitalise my very soul.

Patience and perseverance are all I needed. There is no point in doing all of these when I made the wrong choice. These are the consequences.

I… I must clean up the mess I have created for my life, I must do more, exceed myself, exceed my own expectations, expand myself into the heights and depths of life.

Craving for more? Down below:
Overwhelmingly Overwhelmed.
Cloudy Perspective
Patience
Persevere
Fallen Angel
Equanimity Siege
Clipped