Weird. I can’t live for others. I thought I could so I have tried to be what they want me to be. A child, a sibling, an adult, a student, social, happy. Independent, strong, patient and quiet, speak your mind, listen. Good at this, good at that. Not too good though because that’s bad. Hold the door, think of others. Treat others the way you’d like to treated, right? Not right. No, no, no.

I’ve spent time waiting for others’ convenience, but I can’t do it alone. That’s not how the system works. Or should work. If you see someone waiting don’t push yourself ahead of them. It’s easier to get in anyway if people getting off, well, get off the transport. It’s alright to proceed in an orderly fashion. Still there’s always that someone who’s too busy to see me. It’s hurtful to try and make life slightly easier for others only to get punched in the face for doing that.

But I can’t stop holding doors. I can’t stop helping. I don’t know what’s there for me left if I stop interacting with others the way I do now. People are scary, but there’s something soothing about being a polite stranger. Can you just be a polite stranger to me too? Or alternatively teach me to act… No, no acting. Teach me to be less impulsive with people I think I know…

If you were any younger, or if I was any older we’d be pretty much twins. Sometimes I feel like we are even though there’s the undeniable age gap of 1 year and 1 month. Sometimes wish we were. Twins I mean.

Even though we aren’t, I feel like we’ve shared some aspects of life like twins would. Mother has told us that I used to be your translator in kindergarten. Basically I covered for your lag in speech development and I understood you like a twin would. Not only that, we were also mistaken for twins when mother clothed us in matching outfits. If you were my twin, you would be the social one, and I the scared and shy one. Both intelligent though.

Maybe I wouldn’t be so shy if we had been on the same starting line. Maybe I’d be more complete if I hadn’t been standing in your year and 1 month long shadow. Growing up it was natural for me to cover in your shadow. It was safe and familiar and you were a good role model for me. It was also easy to relate to you, since I’d be where you are now in a year anyway. Pop culture and it’s shiny idols were of no importance, they were distant flickering stars in the night sky viable to dim and die out of time any moment, and you were my Sun and Moon. Ever present. Constant like the bedrock beneath my feet. With you I didn’t feel threatened even when we were fighting.

But then we grew apart. You pushed, and I didn’t even try to hold on. You let go, and I never really grabbed you. I didn’t want to be a bother to you, o I watched how you found new friends while I drifted aimlessly hoping for someone to find me and take me home. There were people who found me but no one cherished me like you did. While you grew up my time stood still and I lived like some abandoned broken doll. Eventually I realized our parents had given their first born the gift of life and their unplanned second child was a china doll. Carefully made but fragile. Lifeless.

Sister. I broke when I was in 8th grade. Year after I entered the same junior high school as you. I tried to recover, but every time time I break it’s harder to collect the pieces. And each time after mending there are more and more of those fine thin lines. Sister, I know you aren’t coming back to me, you already have an unplanned family of your own, but I’m hurting. I miss you and don’t seem to be able to find anyone to take your place and I’m not sure if I can piece myself back together on my own for much longer. I selfishly wish for you to return to me. I wish you never grew up or apart from me. I lo-

Sister, can I call you my twin just once silently in my mind after the birds fall asleep, and before the morning dew starts gathering, just a few days after summer solstice on a clear night. I won’t tell anyone. Not even you.

There’s one thing that’s quite dominant about my memories. That one thing has lots of different names I could call it. “I was close to my family as child” or “I spent most of my free time reading books” or “I focused on my studies when I was younger”. Those statements, while all true, are only versions of truth I tell acquaintances I don’t trust.

For me there’s two kinds of trust. There’s the trust I have for strangers and acquaintances, and the trust where I give my heart and soul to another person.

The latter kind of trust is pretty exclusive. I haven’t quite given it to any of my family members. There was a friend I used to know who had for a while, but if you ask me we’ve drifted apart ever since my family moved away from my country’s capital city around 10 years ago. (For some reason having ~3 hour long train trip between people tends to tear them apart given enough time. Children don’t usually have money for long train trips and taxis on a regular basis, and planning a two way transportation from capital into the woods isn’t a simple task with next to no money.)

The exclusive kind of trust I have yet to give to anyone is probably pretty close to what most people would perceive as love and that’s most likely the most accurate description I have for the trust I want to give to people close to me.

Maybe the term I’m looking for is platonic love. Before I can call anyone a close friend, I want to be able to give my all to them, but most (read as “all”) of the time I’m too scared to get burned to do so. I tend to be scared of new people who try to approach me. I can handle casual “can you borrow a pencil” kind of interaction but in general anything beyond that sets me off.

People are scary since they can hurt without lifting a finger against me. Just feeling lonely can be more painful than falling over and getting all your skins scraped off of your knees and hands. Loneliness can leave scars in your mind and it all can happen over a long time without you ever realizing it except after the damage has been done.

For me the damage is my inability to trust that I won’t be left behind even if I don’t live up to the expectations. So far I’ve only felt like I’m falling into an abyss. A dark and bottomless abyss with no way out. I’ve felt like I’ve been just hanging onto anything I can find in order to stop myself from falling, but what I really need is a strong hand that could pull me out. But trusting someone with my own life is not a small thing. I’m scared.

I’m not writing this for you. Not for you either. This is just to please my sad excuse of an free loader. It’s sad really. I can’t even slack off properly. Maybe I should just stop before I screw myself up again with trying to be a better person. That’s what I do best. Screw up. Mostly it’s just me who’s suffering, but obviously it affects people around me. I might drop writing this blog right after this post or keep it up for rest of my life. And what I write may or may not make any sense. But that’s up to me. I’ll just write whatever is on my mind, and that’s it. My mind isn’t the most logical thing in existence but I just want to let it out. So you either accept and keep on reading a random, hardly understandable and somewhat long text or leave right now. I said *now*.

Still here? Fine. Just don’t spread any hate, I already know this is all just some sad ranting of a sad little human somewhere on Earth. Or maybe I’m a bot or something. Or maybe there is no “me” at all. Oh, well. I don’t care. In all likeliness you probably don’t care either. And there’s no reason for you to do so.

I actually had a teacher sincerely compliment me when I messed up badly enough to have a 1.5 months worth of native language/literature studies counted as nothing. I suppose I managed to handle the self caused situation well enough to look like a good student who tried and tried to fix things but had to give up in the end.

But that’s only a half truth. The truth is I gave up writing those 4-7 essays long before I told the teacher. I would have probably kept on avoiding her if the final time limit wasn’t the next day. I only talked to her somewhat openly about the bloody essays since I’m not good at avoiding responsibilities.

If I let someone down, I absolutely need to wallow in self pity and punish and torture myself before I can accept my faultiness. A good punishment for me is facing the situation head on. I don’t know if my good student-charade is only a relic from my past or if under all the pain and and solitude I’m actually still deep down what I used to be; a good student, a fine individual and part of the society. …Well, I guess the last part isn’t much more than just a dream, but the other two used to be true at least to some extent.

I know no one and nothing is perfect, and I don’t need to try to be that way either. I know that. But still, the concept of what “perfect” stands for exists. It might only exist in the dreams and thoughts of mankind, but still, the general populace is familiar with what that impossible dreamy word stands for. The sole existence of an idea, or like in this case, of a word is enough to encourage people to apply the idea into their day to day lives. Even when I’m aware of the fact, I can’t stop myself from yearning for a make believe paradise. I’m such a fool.

For whatever reason I’ve always been good at talking to teachers. I guess it’s “professional relationship” or something alike that makes it easier as opposed to speaking to my peers. Teachers often like me, and I often like them. They are generally closer to what I’d call a friend than people my age. I’m kind of a teacher’s pet, I suppose.

It pains me when I let a close acquaintance down by failing to turn in my assignments, and maybe that’s what has been affecting my essay writing. Maybe I just want attention. Maybe I just want someone to notice me, and insist on dragging me along and being there for me. Maybe I just want someone outside my family to be worried about me enough for them to stay with me even if I kick and scream when they try to do so.

But then again, I wouldn’t wish for anyone to be kicked and screamed at. That’d be cruel. And I’m trying to not be cruel. Cruel people aren’t good people. I want to be good.