"Life is about give and take; you know this better than anyone; the deal is clear, either you take an in, or war it shall be.
"It's indeed give and take, so why do I feel like the only one who gives without receiving anything in return?"
"Because th...
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Confusion became overwhelming, a state of continuity and endless torment influenced by some things - some indescribable and perhaps even unwanted feelings - that drove you to overthink, to spend nights with only the lamp dimmed on the bedside table. A kind of solitude that you used to appreciate grew to become more apprehensive about as of late. You used to call it a spring clean, a rearranging of shelves, and a dusting of their content; now, you'd would more likely call it a curse.
It was all hindersome rather than nurturing, all useless, fruitless, a whine of a junkyard who'd rather hold out a palm to ask for a coin than earn it. Pointless, really. Drove sleep away sleep, kicked out appetite, too, and these days when you looked in the mirror or had the misfortune of wearing pants that used to fit like a glove in the past, you found yourself checking your contacts to see if any of your college friends have decided to become dietitians. Thought you would do with a strict diet and a few types of workouts jotted down to follow. You like to follow a protocol. Less of a fan of unplanned events.
Unplanned life.
So curses have replaced prayers, sighs too, for that matter. The ceiling never provided a diagnosis for your heavy heart, nor the reason for the palpitations whenever the fantom of thoughts possessed by him crossed your mind. It became worrisome and required an exorcism. Perhaps an offering to the ancestors while you're at it, too.
The questions were always the same: every second and every damn minute of silence you wished could escape from every time it presented itself as a golden opportunity. Matter of fact, there was only one question: 'Why would he go against his father to keep me out of it? What's in it for him?' Well, the one question turned into two, and the two increased rapidly to three and four, and in math, the numbers are infinite. Endless.
So, you do the math.
But, funny as it may sound, you, a scientific graduate and a practicing physician, were never good at math. Good lord, class was boredom personified (objectified, for the sake of accuracy). Would rather skip and justify the absence to the dean afterward. The struggle was always worth it. A matter of ratio, as with everything in life. So the math was taken out of the equation, leaving you with more spiritual options, and that's when the ratio got messed up. You had nothing to offer your ancestors, nothing of value except a bunch of bad choices and regrets. Could be to their taste, for all you know. After all, taste is subjective.
And that's how you found yourself poking more holes in your ears. Something about fighting fire with fire being a lot like curing pain with pain and confusion with diversion. You knew it was crap, but it had always helped in the past. Thought it would be the same this time, and honestly, it was. The pain snapped you out of your trance for a full five minutes and another five when the bijou was inserted into your latest conch piercing. Made you think about how bad it could ever go if you embellished your ears yourself instead of relying on a professional. Figured the result would be exactly as how you've never gotten an answer to satisfy your questions from Jungkook, Yoongi, and Seokjin combined.
