How not to feel so much?

I feel so much. I wish I know how not to. When the rain pours at a time when I forget to bring my umbrella, I would think I’m being punished. That the universe is getting back at me for being a bad person. If the traffic is just plain terrible on a night just after dealing with a horrible moment with my boss, I would feel that a constellation of some paranormal force is ganging up on me for containing so much negative vibes. Sometimes, it just feels too personal. Sometimes, I have nothing to feed my hungry soul but too many unenthusiastic sentiments. And sometimes, I’d just want to crawl to anyone’s bed, get a sinful embrace, and forget how to be a human because there’s just nothing good about being one.

I thought I have learned to tame my emotions over the years. I thought I have learned not to care. But this world is a library of too many different kinds of pain and joy that I could not stop myself from exploring. I pick a sad book, it makes me sad. I pick a happy book, I get frustrated. There’s no way out here. I stare at life’s archives and too many more of them are being put into shelves. It’s unstoppable. The world keeps on spinning. Then there’s me feeling helpless, with eyes descending in my own tears, too overwhelmed, too hurt, too confused.

Finally, I’m moving out. A few days from now, I will get to sort of live the independent life I want to have. I will not be anywhere far. I will not be in London like I’ve always want to be. I’m just moving out to another place, still have the same work, still have the same pay, and it’s making me feel unfulfilled. My mom told me the other day that it would have been better if I’m leaving the house for another job, for another country, for a bigger salary. It was a good point. I want that too. But I’m wishing she said that because she thinks it’s better for me, not better for her so I could still give her some cash as my contribution to the family even if I am away, as an imbursement for raising me, for bringing me into life.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t want to give back. It’s not that I’m being ungrateful that I have been raised this way. In a way, it just hurts me that life has to rub it in to my face through my mom’s oblivious way of expressing her frustrations that I grew up this way. It’s not fair. It’s not fair when you still dream your family has a chance of rebuilding itself even if it has been decaying for so long, even if everyone’s been living their own lives separately, even if it’s no longer possible to wake up to a house with all of them around. At the end of the day, I’m still that kid who dreams of maybe, a big house could reunite us all and that I needed to be away to be able to turn that illusion to a reality. Although for now, I will just be away and I’m getting a little too emotional because nothing seems right about that.

It’s halfway through the year now. There have been many changes already. Some were fulfilling and some were not. I should have been thankful that I’m still alive, that some changes were actually good, but here I am venting because the dark cloud in the sky is consuming me. I want other things. I want to be somewhere else. I want to be a different person. I want to be many things. I no longer want to feel so much. I wish I know how not to.

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