Here’s a little something about me: I hate where I live.

Consider this, I was born and raised in one place for 15 years, then I moved with half my family to another place and I’m still currently there. I hate change, even though I know it’s inevitable, and I’m shy and introverted. Change scares me, and therefore, Life scares me. But, to make the best out of a bad situation, I made my comfort zone my shell and like a turtle, carried that everywhere with me. It was hard to make friends, but I did the best I could and I found that some people are worth letting into your bubble, even if they don’t intend to stay. Sometimes, they change you for the better.

Anyway, this blog post isn’t about my amazing transformation from ugly shy duckling into beautiful outgoing swan. I’m still as introverted as ever. I just wanted to show my readers, and anyone else who’s randomly listening, what my writing style is like, and I decided to show one of my pieces (a prose piece) which I wrote around 2 years ago about what being on the outside is like. And how badly I want to fit in but I seemingly cannot.

Don’t speak. Don’t move. Just listen. All the birds are singing the same tune. Perfect harmony. If you just listen, you can hear all the peace in the world. Imagine all that’s right, and pray that all that’s wrong was imagined.

Now listen again.

That damned bird. That one bird that’s chirping a different tune. Disrupting the peace, ruining the harmony. Why would it do that?

Listen some more.

It’s a cry for help. It’s not a song, its a confused whimper. Falling, crashing, hoping for some help. “Please help me sing your song,” it says, “I’ve been in the dark for so long.” The bird wants to fit in, but has been out of the loop for so long. Can it? Will it? Is the bird too different?

Perhaps it’s like a rock, wedged in the sea, waves constantly crashing and taking away. The waves lose nothing, but the rock’s sharp and witty edges are withering away. Do the waves care? No. They have been set in their ways. Since the beginning of time, the moon has been pulling and pushing the tide. Who is this lowly rock to tell the moon that it’s wrong?

The rock, though it may take time, will smooth over. The rock will have perfect edges, and will not draw blood from those who stand up on it. Will not speak unless spoken to, will not breath till the waves allow it to. The bird will hum the tune of it’s people now.

The spindle of life is still turning. As humans, we see something sharp and we must touch it. No matter how many times we are told not to touch the cactus, it’s very enticing to us. We have pricked our fingers on the spindle of life and we’ve fallen into a deep sleep. A sleep called contentment. We’re all fine, and we can’t complain, and life’s grand. And we’re asleep, and there’s no prince and there’s no way out? The walls are closing in.

No, I refuse to accept this. It’s not happiness, it’s pseudo-contentment. Fine is not good, we can’t complain because we’ll be branded ungrateful and life’s grand because well at least we’ve got out health. This pseudo-contentment is all we’ve got, and we stay there because… we do. We stay because every time we see a cactus, we prick our fingers. We stay because we make the same mistakes. We stay although we’ve got nothing to lose. The bird stays, and learns the new song. The rock stays and loses, day after day. We don’t plan to move away. Sometimes, we can’t. Sometimes, it’s not our choice. Who are we to uproot our lives and move? Who is a person without their roots?

Why do I stay in the arms of pseudo-contentment? What have I got to lose?


Well… I felt like that was kind of intense. I hope you enjoyed it. It’s one of the pieces I’m proud of. Also, to continue a story and not leave you with questions, I have changed. I’m different than the person who lived in one place all her life, but I’ve kept the qualities that make me the person I am. So, maybe I have changed for the better for adapting. It’s not always easy to admit that a place you hate was good for you, but I think it builds character or something of the sort. Let your experiences guide your personality. It might surprise you.