Milieu Euphony (In Act Series #2)

Phase 1

PHASE ONE

THE WOMAN WHO CRIED NONE

In the beginning, I was in the middle.

A wanderer—or so they were called.

It was my decision to be one. I'd rather be in the middle than stay in one place.

Was it a hard decision? No, it was not. Deciding whether I wanted to stay or not was an easy decision for me.

How so? A strong will was a must, while a direction was optional.

If one were to journey, wouldn't there be two options at hand—to seek and to explore, or to seek and to stay?

I was the former, never the latter. Always opted to wander, never hesitated if I'll wither.

What was passion?

It was a question that's supposed to bug me ever since I was little.

What was in it that made people confused, sad, mad, and deranged? What was in it that was said to destroy dreams? What was in it that they were so focused on?

What was in it that I don't understand?

A topic that is all about passion was very foreign for me. It didn't give me anything—sadness, happiness, or excitement. But it gave me everything—my confusion.

I'm not sure if I started this journey built around that idea, but I was sure that I started this journey because I wanted to explore—it wasn't my option to stay. It's much better to explore than be caged in the middle.

A cage was restricting, and it was all things but exploration. For exploration, I'd do better in understanding myself rather than pretend to be improving in a place that seemed directionless.

Does this what it felt like to have no dreams at all—empty?

Or was this better than having any dreams?

To be guided with passion—direction. To be guided and bound in one place that gives you an illusion of improvement and self-satisfaction. To be guided with this direction because even though you're speaking of nothing, you'd be speaking about everything.

Ideas laced with experience, words bound by time and exploration. The abundance of things that improves a person's instincts.

Wouldn't it be nice to have guidance?

But if one were to have some, what would happen if, at the end of the journey, it wasn't the dream that you aspired to have?

It would be tiring, wasn't it? Drowning. Pointless. Directionless.

My ideas—were they originated from my directionless path?

In a world full of misjudgments, people who had passion were the ones who were said to be in the right direction. They are where they want to be, the public would say, but it was a false idea—a false direction—which immediately caged the people who were told to be in the so-called right direction.

Constantly drilled in their path; constantly criticized for their mistakes.

You're not performing from what I've expected you to, but did I even ask you to expect something from me?

Like how there were people filled with directions, there were directionless people, too.

It was to conclude that I was in the right direction, but, really, was there anyone on the right path? If so, could they guide me, too?