To Where Does This Road Lead?

It’s a question that I’ve been asking myself a lot lately. Perhaps because I’d be 30 in a couple of months. That in itself is not a scary thing — age probably doesn’t scare me as much as it does most people, and certainly not the more cosmetic aspects of it… the not-as-supple-as-before skin, the low metabolism, the other saggy bits. But it does bother me that at almost 30, I still don’t know what I want to do with my life. And the problem is I don’t know if I really want to know. Perhaps it doesn’t matter afterall, to have a concrete goal, to have a job, to “know” what it is one is supposed to make of one’s life. Who says you need to be anything, anyway?

The thing is, I know I should really be telling myself “fuck it”, but there’s just this nagging feeling picking at my mind, saying that “you have to know”, “you have to know your worth”, “don’t waste your potential”. I tell others I’m a writer, but I hardly write because I’m too afraid to write a crappy piece of work or something that somehow adds rubbish to a world full of rubbish. As a person, I’m an absurd figure of contradictions. I’m a writer who doesn’t write. I’m a student who hates studying. I’m a wife who’s not much of a wife. What the hell am I doing here?

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