Every end of the year, I reflect on what transpired over the course of the past 365 days. I am a naturally introspective person, so I enjoy examining these events and the effects they’ve had on me.
Living with depression, it’s always the default to see things in extremes, i.e. this year has been terrible. My perspective is skewed to look at the shitty parts of life, so in this post, I’ll do my best to be as rational as possible.
In a bustling city of concrete and glass, we converged as strangers. Different people, different stories.
One thing united us, as we eventually discovered: we were all broken in some way. Our past relationships with friends, family, and romantic partners haunted us. Those ghosts followed us all the way to Ayala Avenue, where an office building stood dark and formidable.
Within those four walls, I experienced a gamut of emotions. Joy. Stress. Motivation. Pride. Anger. Sadness. You saw it all, from me helplessly weeping on the sidewalk to me practically yelling in the streets in a fit of rage.
Lately I’ve been having a recurring fantasy: a life with no emotional connections.
You’ll never be disappointed because you expect nothing from everyone. You can focus on external matters, like your job. You’ll never have to worry about messy things like romantic and platonic relationships. No more worrying about people leaving.