A Coward’s Diary

I am dragging, dragging from place to place. My mind is constantly in search, filled with the hope that I might be happy, despite all my will to the contrary. A continuous journey, a stillness, a hope, a failure. My belief in achieving success, shaped by the ever-changing nature of time, ends with my relocation, settling for merely watching success drift further away at the end of the road. I attribute everything to change, yet I remain entirely passive in the face of what change brings. Why do my thoughts always strive to keep up with change? Why am I constantly tossed around by the idea that my understanding of life is evolving? Should I start taking life seriously? Should I embrace the ambition of humanity? Should I, like them, endlessly strive for success? Or perhaps I should simply write about how my thoughts meet with laziness in this very spot where I sit.

Writing always brings unease; instead of feeling relieved, I am overwhelmed with sorrow the moment I start writing. As soon as I begin, I find myself stark naked in the clutches of a great sadness. I fear that someone will remind me of my nakedness. Perhaps it is not the act of writing itself but the criticisms I direct at myself that distress me—I am afraid of the thoughts in which I know I am right. I fear my dull convictions that I will never be successful at anything. These days, I am surprised by the praise I receive from others; knowing how utterly useless I am, I feel ashamed of the false perception I project onto people. The moment I receive praise, I want to run away, not even look back. Especially, I do not want to look back—I do not want to look, I do not want to, I do not… because I fear that someone might be behind me.

I do not want them to know that I am a coward who appears confident. I do not want them to see me trembling with fear at night. I cover my mouth so they will not hear the gaps between my sobs, the voids within me. I love the security that silence brings; I fear the meaninglessness of the words that might escape my lips if I speak. I fear people getting to know me, terrified that they will discover my true self. I have been acting all my life, performing like a good actor. I even act for myself, afraid that if I stop, I will come face to face with who I truly am. I fear that the only thing I have ever been truly successful at is acting. I am just afraid.