If I never tried, I would’ve never known

I was stuck in a rut.

Everything’s the same.

It’s so boring.

So mind numbingly boring.

There so much to do, but at the same time not enough to do.

Or really, things I didn’t care about doing – people I didn’t care about interacting with.

People, like the buildings, were as exciting as the grey concrete the construction crew left unpainted.

Grey. Everything’s grey. Everything’s too vast, hard to process. Everything. Everything I could not make sense of.

I keep thinking back to the conversation back in January, “what are you still doing there?” the innocent question same to creep up. How the hell did I manage to meet someone from the same city, though other people would rather say ‘town’ as me on the other side of the world was beyond me – it’s even more unfathomable – as I thought nobody in this place ever left for anything better, for they believed nothing better could exist.

Why am I still here – the question hounds on repeat like a thickening storm cloud. It appears again and again, almost as often as the thought of the person you’ve never got to known, but wish you had – and when those two thoughts converge, you feel as if the entire world is pressing down – except then you push up, refusing to get crushed, refusing to let this logic of ‘mediocrity equals bliss’ equation ruin you.

“We just want you to be normal.”

That statement is as valuable as a speck of sand on the shoreline, because his values and yours are words apart, separated by the decades, separated by misaligned goals.

“Too bad. I need to be myself.”

And that’s how you strike back, in a place of grey concrete and lifeless existence. That’s how you strike back and reignite the sense of self you’d lost in a sea of insincerity and half-assed ‘settling’. Although you expect it to be incredibly tame – you go anyways, and for the time you’re there, you manage to try to see things from different angles, you manage to capture the moments rather than letting them slip into another day of mundane mediocrity, of nothingness, of nothing to show for. And then, there’s the results, you see a glimmer of light – the beginning of a new idea – the start of something new – something creative – something you actually wanted to do. And you think back, if I had not, that day, decided I’ve had enough of what I already known, had not picked up the old broken camera for the sea, had not ignored the odd looks from people as they passed by, had not done any of that – I would’ve never made this picture, and things would’ve never led from one to another then snowball into a project. You think of the stories you can tell.

And you think to yourself, this is why, you try, try, try.

Even if you think there’s nothing left to do. Try, try, and try again.

Because, one of these days, you’ll get it – you’ll get it and you’ll find yourself in what you create.

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