Ending October is a painful phase. October felt like a person you’ve finally learned to loved; it felt like something concrete – something you hold on to knowing that at some point, you’ll have to let it go.
All throughout October, I felt very, very happy. I was surrounded with people that made me feel good being alive. My stresses and crammed papers were nothing compared to the joy I feel whenever I stay in school, drowning in conversations I understood because I knew what my favorite people were talking about. Getting home exhausted felt nothing compared to the energy and effort I had to happily exert knowing that my existence was of help, and not of a burden. Going to different places for the first time didn’t feel like how it did when I was a child: scary and doubtful. This month’s was fulfilling, peaceful.
But October had it landslides, too. I had my fair share of breakdowns. I heard stories that shot needles to my heart, mentally killing my happy state. I had my own stories, I had my own problems. I had my frustrations. And even as I write this, the questions I fear are still unanswered.
But life is good.
Fuck life because this isn’t made out of good writing. This is trash. And I don’t know why I can’t write my emotions so beautifully right now. But this is how I feel. Life is beautiful.