Is a free spirit ever free?                                                                                                       It searches for contentment but doesn’t settle for its contents.                               Its lack is its luster.                                                                                                              Its tormented soul always escaping and searching for the inevitable.                      Can it be contained?                                                                                                            Can it settle for bread to nourish or will it always long for the forbidden fruit?

As a child, I was a dreamer. I romanticized my life, imagining every idealistic scenario. I trusted too much. My life began to be one huge disappointment after another.

Transitioning into an adult, I stripped my childhood dreams of anything being possible. In a world of skepticism, I learned that life is hard enough without the presence of the improbable. I told myself that the responsible and appropriate thing to do was find an easy solution. I became jaded from trying to fit into an outside world that didn’t match my inner world so I slowly sank into the cracks of reality and watched the people walk right over me.

I became obsessed with being rational. For a long time I felt like a robot deeming everything that was irrational or unexplainable out of the question. Love and life are so abstract and nothing can define or explain them. And yet there I was, always allowing myself to obsess over trying to. I objectively analyzed and over-thought every detail of my life but always felt that I lacked something. I could not figure out the missing element.

I allowed a piece of myself to die: the element of awestruck passion, the feeling of vulnerability. The fear and hurt of the unknown wiped away all paths of risks. A part of me died when every piece of my soul was torn to pieces over and over from the outcome of my risks. The pain squeezed my heart dry: no air, no blood. It died — never to skip another fluttering beat again.

I became rational, selfish and guarded. I lived a life of motions, not moments — a life of planned events. I forgot the thrill of jumping without knowing why. Words grew dull, exhausting. The words that filled my life become meaningless.

But Actions speak louder. Even though they sound less coherent, like mindless screams and chants, you can feel the emotion behind it. It took me years of aimlessly wandering to see that a person is incapable of understanding their life without the feelings and emotions behind their actions. It took me years of misery to come back to the exact idealistic view on life I had as a child — you have to believe that anything is possible in order to achieve it.


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