Heartless

It's been a wild wild year, with so many ups and downs that I've lost track of the times where i gravitated between the extremes of joy and sadness, anger and contentment. I can't say for sure which happened more than the other, to be honest, but I guess it just happened to be another year. Every year is a mixed bag, why should this be any different?

Somehow, though, I seem to feel that I have squandered my year, perhaps. True, I learnt stuff. True, I've grown a little. True, I've got to know many new people. Yet, there's nothing that I can say that I feel genuinely proud of, that I find I am happy to take responsibility for. It's almost as if the year had no meaning, only intermittent events that I dealt with, some fun here and there, but nothing particularly meaningful.

It might sound callous to say this, but I guess that while success is a great thing, and I'd rather succeed than fail, winning doesn't fill me with an inner glow or a warm aura of happiness or anything like that. There was no memorable victory over some eternal(ha ha) archnemesis, just me running the rat race again. And maybe that's the problem with it all. The meaningless rat race, the microscopic, limited, hollow success I have experienced. It does matter, just that it doesn't matter enough.

It seems sad then, that all I can so far is that yes, I've achieved stuff that I never really wanted anyway. And there's this little voice telling me that even if I did, it still wouldn't be enough.

Not deep down.

Not anymore.