Last week, I went to India. (Or, another rambling post by a restless mind)

I’m serious. 

The other day I dreamt of far away places. 

I went to India, I saw poverty and filth and held hands with sick people in Calcutta. I took pictures and cried and smiled and made young friends in hostels. We drank beer out of green glass bottles and spun around through palm trees and dirt roads. I saw water and pain and smiling toothless children and through it all my life was changed.

I didn’t plan to go to India. I was listening to a song, walking down Broadway, and I bought a VW bus. But I’d have to wait until I got back from India to use it.  I saved up money for a few months as I walked down the busy sidewalk. I put school aside and bought a plane ticket while I did my grocery shopping. I shrugged off the opinions of everyone else as I walked further down the street. I flew to India, and my life was changed.

I was gone for a few months, and with no school and no obligations and no one around me, I packed a bag and some belongings and drove to Mexico. It was a long drive, but slow and sweet all the while. I camped on beaches and met strange friends. I ate In N Out and oranges and left the windows rolled down. 

I lived a different kind of life. I told stories and learned new things, I had fun and woke up with bare feet and open plans every morning. 

I found my place in the world. I was constantly moving, I was young, I was doing the things that I had always dreamed of as a kid.

But then I woke up from this magnificent daydream and found myself on Broadway, surrounded by construction and cars, sweating from power-walking, rushing to the bank then back to campus then changing clothes and going to work then doing homework then eating school food then going to bed and getting up too early and feeling blah and stale and meaningless every single sunny day. 

My life is fine. My life has its beautiful moments, but I am not in the right spot right now.

Every single day I want so badly to quit school, earn money, travel, help others, make friends, make memories, live simply and wonderfully and drink red wine in warm places under the stars that sit in the same sky that I have always lived under.

I want to create a new world for myself under the same old sky.

I hate that I am doing exactly what I am “supposed” to be doing right now. I am competing, I am cramming, I am studying and stressing and crunching numbers and preparing for a future— why the fuck are we always preparing? We go through twelve years of school to “prepare” for four years of college that “prepare” us for two years of grad school that “prepare” us for the “real” world, we get unpaid internship that “prepare” us for “real” jobs…

my God it makes me sick.

I hate to say that I am living at such a surface-level right now.

I want to go deep inside myself. I want to explore religions and spirits and beliefs and nature and Gods and humans and people and families and music and meditation and nutrition and, really, myself. 

I can’t even stand to be around myself anymore. I used to love being alone, sit for hours writing and reading and listening to music and dreaming and creating and thinking and planning, 

But now I fill my days with anything and everything. People, places, events, classes, when I am alone, I make plans, when I am quiet, I call someone. Because life is getting faster and faster and I feel like I am already on the stupid hamster wheel of society and I want to fucking kick it over and tell it to fuck off, and I am not exactly sure how to do that, but I am trying to figure it out. 

I fucking want want want, I want to do this, I wish that, I need this, that blah blah, and then I pause and realize that months have gone by and all these things have slipped away from me, because I just think about them, I never seize them and make them my reality. 

I don’t know where to go or where I should be, I want a sign or a call from some God, but I feel far away from religion, and when I think about such things, I feel guilty, I feel selfish, I feel distant from myself. 

But what matters, is that I am figuring it out. I will find my path and my people, and I already know my passions.

On an ending note, I experienced something calming the other day. I had a moment of clarity in which I finally understood why someone is the way they are, I realized that I am, in a sense, the bigger person, and experienced a moment when I understood that the world brought me to this person so that I can help bring out the goodness in them.

Beautiful moments. 

I hate.

I hate the wave of distrust, insecurity, and paranoia that come when I am alone, and/or Facebook stalking, or looking through his phone, or frantically searching his computer.

I am so stupid sometimes. When my parents were together they would be upstairs and they would yell at each other and scream and throw things at the wall and I would always creep over to the bottom of the staircase and listen to them for hours, it’s like picking at a scab or wiggling a loose tooth when it’s at the point where it’s bloody and it hurts and it’s about to fall out but you keep pushing at it anyway. For some reason I couldn’t stop listening to them tear each other apart. 

I could trust him fully, never look at his computer, his phone, never be suspicious, be constantly paranoid, doubtful, feeling bad, making up stories in my head about things he is doing… but it’s too late for that. I can’t stop searching, snooping, and assuming. 

I just keep torturing myself by being happy 80% and feeling awful 20% of the time!! It’s so bad. I feel so stupid, but I know that nobody is perfect and everyone is going to make me feel awful part of the time right?? We are just humans, we are going to make mistakes. And when it’s that 80% it’s great, but when it’s that 20% I hate myself for not breaking up with him in February. 

Ugh. Rambling post. Had to vent.

sometimes I feel like a complete failure

because I don’t know what I want.