Just Confused

                Decisions are part of every person’s lives. There are no exceptions. But as people grow up an d grow old, situations get complicated and decisions get harder.

                As we approach the different points of our lives, things get tougher and tougher. I’m not sure how tough it can get but it’s sure to be one hell of a life. I don’t know would this writing lead, but as of now, I just want to write and write and write and write some more.

                I am 21 years old and I already find difficulties choosing among my options. Are there more alternatives? ‘Cause I cannot choose. I should create more options. I wish I could go back to the time when I was five years old and things were a lot easier than this. Kids have the liberty to think about themselves, just about themselves. They don’t need to consider a lot of people because they are just kids and that is how they are expected to think. Just kids! But with me… I am a young adult who needs to consider a lot of things – other people’s feelings, what-ifs and a lot of everything.

                I wonder how complicated things would be after five, ten or fifteen more years. Here’s the thing, I was accepted for a job away from home and away from Manila. I know I’m thinking too much especially with this one. I see things as problems when in fact they are opportunities. Maybe I was overreacting, thinking a lot of stuff so much when I shouldn’t be thinking about it at all. But this is life for me, think, think, think and think more. Sooner or later, I will come to a decision whether it is the best, better, or just okay. At least not bad. I will find out eventually. 

                So far I have written enough, but the honest reason why I’m doing this, the writing, is that I am afraid I could make a decision that I will regret in the end. I am afraid I could lose a person because of prioritizing the wrong person. I’m afraid it would be too late to come back and be ready because everything has already been taken away while I was gone. I’m afraid that I am preparing too much that it wouldn’t matter after all. I wish I could be selfish and think about myself first, what can make me happy. But I guess I value a lot of people more than myself and I am doing this for them before it’s too late that everything I have worked for won’t be appreciated because there is nobody to.

                Why do I always end up writing something that is so sappy and painful? I guess that’s the way hands keep moving and typing and working and creating stories which are basically patterned to the writer’s life. So I guess it’s another love letter huh!