Rest in Peace, My Future Self

Sorry for wasting your potential.

You wanted success.

You wanted to be someone.

You wanted to compose a magnificent piece that would turn the world around.

But you can’t do the thing.

Why are you scrolling on your phone? Why aren’t you daydreaming like you used to? Why are you letting your ideas die?

*play Adagio for Strings by Samuel Barber*

Are you putting flowers on the grave,
for the person that you’ll never be?

ACT I

10 PM, in the kitchen.

Well, well…

Another day wasted.

I woke up. Drank my coffee. Didn’t feel excited for the day ahead, but at least the caffeine made me less drowsy.

Then I went to work.

Didn’t think much about my life because I’m focusing on, you know…work.

Today, I looked at the clock more often than usual.

I’m busy; I have 12 things to do, I forget the hours, and suddenly it’s time to leave, and I’m like: Wait, that’s it?

So I go home and put on my pajamas.

I want to do something “productive”, on my own terms.

Like read a book.

But I don’t have the motivation. I’d rather eat a snack. Or two.

Or three…

Even sleep would be more productive, at this point. But I don’t want to.
I need to look at my phone. I need one last technique that will change my life, or at least kill my lethargy, before I can finally rest.

So this is me right now…

What has my life come to be?

*One minute of silence*

What will people say about me?

*One minute of silence*

Oh, he was nice, I guess. Nice and bland…

Well, it cannot be so bad, right? I’m not bothering anyone. I’m not acting crazy. My life could go on like this for a long time, and it would be considered normal. I am okay-looking. It’s not a big deal. Alright, maybe I do seem a bit tired, but that’s just adulthood, they said. That’s just life, and I shouldn’t be so sensitive about it.

I should accept it.

*play Gymnopédie No. 1 by Erik Satie*

Uh…

I don’t know.

Somewhere along the way, I’ve lost a part of me.

So many talents I could’ve pursued. If only I put in the work…

And then, I’d be worthy. I’d be happy.

But nothing happened in those years, because I’m dead.

There’s a voice in my head, and it’s telling me: Too hard, kid. You can’t make things happen because you’re weak.

Life is no fun when you have low self-esteem.

ACT II

10:15 PM, in the kitchen.

For goodness sake.

I wasn’t born to be numb.

I wasn’t born to be distracted by pointless drama, pointless junk food, pointless everything. I cannot waste it like that.

If I want to change, why don’t I?

I’ve been surviving till this very day. I’ve been trying again and again, even when I failed a thousand times. Why can’t I do anything about it? Come on.

The voice in my head says I’m too fearful…like a broken record.

But it gets old, you know?

*play Time by Hans Zimmer*

I won’t tolerate it anymore, like I’m disposable, just like that. I cannot be this nonchalant about life.

I have stuff to work on.

I have meaning to find. I have my true self to express.

The voice in my head (again) says that if I express myself,
people will see that I’m different. Therefore, I will be ridiculed.

Okay, so what’s the alternative? To be fake?

I’m here to create something that will make me real, for once.

I’m done with thinking about being perfect, and never doing anything as a result.

No, I don’t have to know it all. No, I don’t have to be confident all the time. I don’t have to be smiling for 24 hours. That’s not how people will love me. If I don’t even respect myself…

Instead of scrolling, I will scribble my life away.

My first memories. The bicycle rides, the school lunches, the teachers, the neighborhood, the 2000s music on the radio, the smell of butter pancakes, the first friends I made, and the excitement I felt. I’m gonna write every detail down.

Every day is a rebellion against my grave.

Yes, I’ll make a fool of myself.

I can hear it in my brain: “Wow, calm down. You’re too naive. And you know what? Art is meaningless. Why don’t you become a doctor instead? Or an engineer. You’d help society more. But no, instead you’ve gotta please an ego that’s obsessed with not being disapproved. Do you need praise and encouragement? For what, you helpless piece of junk.”

STOP IT. STOP SPEAKING FOR ME.

You were never my voice to begin with.

I know this is useful, and not only for myself.

I’m not writing for claps. I’m writing because I’m trying to heal something. I’m trying to engineer something, even though I don’t know what that something is yet, because it has no name, it cannot be seen like a physical injury, it can only be felt.

Once I gain my confidence back, no one will stop me. I will have the guts to achieve everything I was meant to do.

Why am I still on my phone?

ACT III

10:30 PM, in the kitchen.

It’s time to move on.

I’m gonna grieve his loss.

Yes, his dreams are dying, but I’m still going to achieve what he never thought was possible.

And I know exactly what I’m gonna do.

When I’m watching someone play the piano,
I get inspired, almost teary-eyed.

It’s a rhapsody of awe and envy, reminding me that I too could find beauty in the world, and I too could turn up the volume with my own instrument.

It is a wish of mine to be someone’s harmony, the same way I was able to resonate with other pieces. So yes, I am gonna work for it, at my small level, until it goes crescendo.

Because as cheesy as it sounds, I think we’re here for a reason.

To find out why, we need to think for ourselves. Not with a screen, not with the voices in our heads that aren’t ours, but alone.

Find the real voice among the noisy chatter.

Once I know what I want, I’m gonna press repeat until it’s stuck in my brain, like a catchy chorus.

For my own sanity.

*play Prelude for Time Feelers by Eluvium*

The phone, the food, all that can go away, and I won’t even notice.

Because my purpose is my main distraction.

It’s the only record disk I’m putting in my brain.

And now, I really want to sing.

Like when I was nine years old,
upstairs at home,
and I listened to my voice for the first time.