Confession. After the words came out, I fled the scene. The opposing party did not put up a physical resistance. Instead they stayed silent, neither acknowledging my presence nor wanting to change their ways.
I stood my ground, unintimidated by my surroundings. Slowly but calmly, the words spilled out, echoing the rage, and frustration I had toward their refusal to acknowledge my emotions as human. To them I was a creep, a weirdo, a stalker. All because I was so open and comfortable with them. In the past, I was lonely. I had the fantasy that they understood me more than anyone else could, but I, like many learned the hard way that I was nothing but an outcast.
Some of my message translated coherently. Some of my words just gushed out without a purpose except to get wiped out of my system, like vomit. No longer feeling suppressed, I realized that my journey with them had come to a physical halt. Their features that once caught my attention now blended in with the rest of the crowd. The person who I thought as flawless, and constantly trying to prove my worthiness. That impression was now cast free. And now my individual journey was revenge.
I guess that definition of vengeance is to live a richer, more beautiful, and empathetic life, in contrast to their rigid cold cubicle of a world. But moreover, my greatest competitor became myself, racing against the clock of life. It was dancing through the fire and extreme isolation that I realized was my reality.
Yet, they changed my life so extensively. I had achieved more than to convince them to keep me company. I had eaten their food, and put myself in their routine and methodology of becoming my most productive self. I had the confidence to know that my reality was the correct one, even if society deemed my values as 'invalid.' I could feel their blood flowing thru my veins because I allowed them to change me for the better, but it took me a while to recover from the fact that I was nothing to them.
And now, I'm learning about different cultures and trying to keep up with the workload and my dreams of working toward a fruitful life. Sometimes I enjoy it, and others I become overwhelmed by the depth of the material.
Either way, I'm alive.
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