Every year is the same.
I begin each year with a renewed sense of excitement and a renewed sense of hope. Excited about the events that are bound to occur, hopeful about the achievements I will be making in the year to come. Only to be disappointed not so long after. Twenty-two days into the month of January, 2016 isn’t bringing me the magic I fervently hoped for it to appear.
The joyous spirit of the December holidays came and went by just as quickly. What follows after is none other than the utter drudgery faced by the masses, as though certain scenes from certain Orwellian classic have been re-enacted. It’s horrible. The liveliness that was present a moment ago faded and the mood became overwhelming dull. I hate to say this but there seem to be this foul, stubborn stench that permeates so prevalently in the air, as if something is decomposing, that I am choking on it. I hate it. Walking on the street is another sight to see, people are mostly glued to their phones and almost no one reciprocates a simple smile. Yeah, I get it, I’m too fugly for you to waste your muscle huh?
I am beginning to take a different perspective at several things. And I am starting to hate these internal changes within myself. I am starting to hate a lot of things.
I hate not getting the sincere recognition. I hate getting fed with sugar-coats. I hate having my hopes held so high up then having them all tumbling all back into solid ground. I hate living one lie after another lie. I hate not getting the love I ought to be getting. I hate not earning enough, not saving enough, not working enough. I hate basic human interactions. I hate trying. I hate listening to fake laughter, subtle insults, blatant insults, and gibberish. I hate not having the inspiration to write. I hate how my 100 books New Year resolution is overly ambitious.
I hate how my act of sincerity gets ignored.
“Hate” is a strong term, I guess this is justifiable.
Most importantly, I hate being so hypocritical.