Stupid, right? My own journal. Well, if you can call it by that name these days. Would it now be a digital journal? Or the word defines the concept no matter the way it’s done? Too many questions. That’s what happens these days. Or since long ago. So many questions, not enough answers. It has always been that way. That’s our nature anyway; curiosity is what has taken us this far. Or it’s also what killed the cat. Really, it depends on perspective. For some, adventure is what drives them through life – the thrill of risk and opportunity allows them to grow. For others, taking the safe path is better – control is order, rightness, stability, guaranteed success. Me? I’m still working on it. Maybe it’s both. A balance? Yeah, probably. Like everything else. I still get trouble finding that equilibrium point though, hard to do when playing it safe. Confusing. And sometimes I feel everybody plays by his or her own rules, really. But nobody dares to say it: everyone is too selfish. Me included, of course. I sometimes wonder if I’m too selfish. If I worry too much about my future or if I should just live by the moment. But, yeah. Uncertainty is something we have to live with. Drives some people nuts, often. Like, if I’m ever going to be able to leave this place. I mean it’s not that I don’t like it here. I’ve got great friends, a family that loves me, great school. But… I want to discover other things. Bigger things. Exotic things. Really, it’s scary stuff, taking care of yourself and all that crap. But I’d feel independent. Secure. Mature. Confident that what I’m doing is what I actually want. But, what if everywhere else is the same as here? What would I do then? That’s the worst part. If I actually get to meet the world and find out escaping was just an illusion and that everywhere is the same no matter the place. Well, that’s why I don’t like to think about the future either. It makes me overanalyze everything, much more than I do now. And that is saying something.

Anyway. This is silly. And I don’t know why I can’t stop writing. In fact, I’m falling asleep right here. But I needed to get this off my chest. I feel lonely sometimes. Well, not LONELY lonely, just in need of talking to someone about these kinds of things. But no matter how many times I try, I just can’t bring myself to share these things with anybody. It sucks. But it’s the truth.

Confession is exactly what I need. To be vulnerable. To be accessible, for once not feel invincible or perfect, but flawed and human. Human. Not alien, no. I feel I close myself up too much and put on a poker face all the time. Sometimes I feel that nobody knows me for what I really am. An eighteen year old trying to get a place in the world, with the same desires and ambitions any other teenager has. I AM a teenager. I like to have fun. I just don’t have the option to do it when I’m trying to get into college abroad. Or, I do, but not as often as I’d like. Yeah, I’m just rambling here. But it makes me realize that I do like to write. A lot. In fact, this is calming me down. And clearing my head.