The Tombstone
There were countless deliberations of what and who I should become. Like any other parents, mine put pride in my smarts. The validations, supports, and the invisible pressure made me believe that I should become exactly that person; that winning is the only choice I can take. There were no forked roads, and there is only the narrow path of being the best.
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I was proud — drunk even of the intellectual power I hold. Relationships became transactional, conversations became a struggle of wits, and ultimately, I weighed people of their worth. Like a man acting God — segregating good and evil; however, at the end of it, I was nothing but an actor, standing on a paperboard made scaffolding —fragile, almost weightless, empty. The road I thought as the truth made me the devil, and the light that should have illuminated my path blinded me.
It was already too late when I realized this, that I have forsaken the years that could have been. I mistook intellect as a ticket to atrocity — blasphemous and sacrilegious towards people. That I took a path I thought was glory, only to realize I am unworthy.
