I do not fancy myself as a particularly good person. I know that I exhibit myself as a big façade of guts, courage and dauntlessness ready to suck the marrow out of life. Being a person that I am whose been living by myself for the last one and a half decades, I have always believed that if things are not right, there is nobody else but me to put things right. I don’t know if I should be proud that my fearlessness is my secret weapon. Or think that this belief is one of my fatal flaws.
By living by myself, I don’t have the choice but to be brave. I know that this is such a cheesy sentiment, but honestly, I need to be brave. I need the courage to fight the creatures that I have to fight, may it be the monsters beneath my bed or the invisible ogre who pulls me down. I need to be brave so as to heal the failures of the past and get ready to navigate away for the would-be-wounds of my future.
I know I have lots of great reliable friends and loving dependable relatives but at the end of the day it is but me whom I should depend myself on. I am responsible for my own misery and at the same time my own welfare and happiness.
This post is so tacky and so old -fashioned, it makes me barf!