Alive

Had a long talk with Alexan 2 nights ago. Late into the night, when we both had to work the next day. And his blog which I just read, but decided not to disclose anyways, on a post sometime ago which involves me, made me rethink about myself. He's a deep one. And seeing him, I miss the old me, the one who used to think so much, read so much into everything I see or hear. I still do but not as much. And I'm feeling empty. It was tiring so I wanted to get myself out of the misery.Perhaps I've tried so hard not to think that I've slowly lost the ability to. And I don't like it. I love the fact that I can think, perhaps deeper than a normal person would. It may not be good, but it makes me feel alive. And I would never want to give up that ability.

Which is probably why, I can never understand simple and innocent people. People with a simple mind, who believes the world is beautiful, the world is fair. People who could never understand human nature. People who would never see the same light the way I see it. There's nothing wrong with them, they just don't see the world like I do. To them that is world, and so I shall not impose my thoughts and beliefs on them. But sometimes I wish I could let them see the harsh realities of life. Or perhaps I've seen too much, that I feel it'll happen to them sooner or later. Yet again, I might not have seen this much. These were all the thoughts and beliefs that I have made up, from what I do not know. Perhaps I just see the world in a darker shade than they do.

And then again, I hate people who are perfect. People who are nice to everybody or try to be nice to everybody. People who offer help selflessly. People who put others before oneself. People who think everyone is nice. People who for countless times, tell me to do the right things. Perfect to such an extent that I don't believe it's true. No one is perfect and can be perfect. This is just so unreal. Everyone has their selfish side, there must be a flaw somewhere. I feel like tearing away the facade and reveal the real them. Yet again, I could be jealous of people like that, perhaps because I know I can never be you. The perfect you. Perhaps such people do exist, but I chose to to believe in the imperfections in me that I can never see the real perfection in you.

I don't want to be what I am now. I want the old self back. I want to indulge, in what I believe is true. I want to enjoy, the indulgence I used to enjoy. I want to relive, the moments I used to live. I don't like the person I see in myself now. Perhaps if I could think as much as I used to, I would not have made the mistakes I made.

I don't want to turn weak. I want my ability back. I want to think. I want to feel alive.