While being sad and lonely in the middle of the night (riddled with flu and shitload of assignments), I wonder if it was a good idea to have dug up all my past blogs and read them one by one, each filled with so much angst and helplessness that it almost broke my heart a second time reading them.

Life, flows by so quickly. That a year or two passes by and you don't realize history is repeating itself over and over again until you stop and ponder. In 2 years time, or maybe just 2 months time, will I find myself struggling to stay breathing above the water surface again? Or will I simply give up and sink to the bottom. I ask myself this question almost everyday. It's like as if everyone has found their dream, or at least found a route for their future, all except for me. All but me.

I'm not the most perfect person out there. I'm not good enough at anything.
But even still, survival is a valuable enough skill.
One that I hope I possess.

Sometimes when I'm about to be knocked down by a car, I get this thrill that I can't find anywhere else. And it's like at that moment I realize that I'd rather be knocked down, when I'm at my happiest moment with nothing to regret on, and all the dread and doubt will be over. And that's when I've stopped looking out for traffic, stopped being cautious of cars coming my way. But I've never tried to place myself in the middle of traffic; and for that I think perhaps my turn to die has not come yet.

It's ironic isn't it? On one hand I hope to be able to survive, yet on the other hand I don't treasure life enough. Perhaps what I want is to be able to survive if I have to live, and be able to die if I could die. What is worst is feeling like death in the middle of living.
That isn't life; that's simply existing.