Writer of One’s Life

Writer of One’s Life

All I want is the best, not just for me, but for everyone around me.

I’m a writer, indeed. Not just literally, because I’m one of the writers in our school, or I want to write in the future for I want to work in a Media Production. No, it’s not that easy. Because I also write what you should do and what you don’t have to, and that was totally wrong.

I have too many words to say, but I chose to keep it to myself while I was quietly observing everything around me. Sometimes, I only wish that I will be alone for a long time and totally happy, no problems, no issues, no bs, just me, myself and I.

You may see me sad in the corner, but tbh, I’m too damn happy, because I found my comfortable place, where I can let it all out. Other people might realized when they saw me, I’m completely a loner, devastated, alone, f*cked up, but I was satisfied, on what’s happening. Maybe it’s just the perks of being an introvert, you’re whole life would be miserable, as what they predict. But, you just hiding the treasures inside your head. You don’t want to open it because other people may stole it from you.

I used to manipulate other’s life. Most of my closest friends always ask piece of advice, alternative ways, possible answers to their problems and I’m here ready to say what I want to say clearly, concisely. But they asked the wrong person, that has the wrong path. My life was totally wrecked, you may say that I’m living luckily. But that luck wasn’t enough for me to be outgoing.

Soon, I will leave, I’ll leave the country full of problems and questions that haven’t solved yet. I will go to the place where all of us want to go, but, there, I only hope that, I would completely change.

Love, your New Yorker soon.


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