Blue.

Stacks of sun-scorched whitewashed rocks extend outwards, to the endless blue. Wearing a pair of sandals with overly smooth soles, he proceeded cautiously, one small precarious step at a time. The sun hung high, a fiery orb of heat and light tacked unto a canvas of azure with wispy ribbons of white. A black bulky DSLR slung around his shoulders, he continued his efforts with zealous conviction, slowly approaching the edge where the rocks abruptly end.

The entire expanse of the sky melds unto the ocean flawlessly, and the horizon serves to wed the two in an amalgamation of perfection. Amidst the rhythmic beating of the gentle waves hitting the shoreline and the occasional seagulls cawing, he snapped a photograph; a snapshot of a moment frozen and unmarred by time.

Blue.

Angst.

What am I even doing here? I have absolutely no idea.

It's like what they say these days - I don't even.

Quickly, act like your teen angst's in remission.

Cue sighs.

Self.

Once, I thought it would be easy; the minute I finished school, I would be employed and start my adult life as a contributing self-sufficient and responsible member of society.

Now, I'm less optimistic with each passing day; do I hold onto my dwindling aspirations? Endeavors without beginnings are not what dreams are made of.

I must carry on, wayward or otherwise. In the meanwhile, I would commit to self improvement; certain aspects of my life is a mess at the moment, and I seek to remedy exactly that.

How? I'll ride this new year feel-good wave and find out.

2017.

I have convinced myself that I could accomplish great things, feeding into my delusions of grandeur. It is becoming increasingly apparent that I am lying. To myself, at the very least.

This road started out in earnest, hopeful but stupidly optimistic. My own inflated expectations trapping me, in a viscous bubble of depravity.

I hold myself hostage, akin to victims of the infamous Stockholm Syndrome, telling myself that I am worth more than this, without knowing what does 'this' actually refers to.

These irrational sentiments are further reinforced with every step I failed to take; tendrils of unseen chains pulling me down, into depths of dissonance.

I keep telling myself with increasing conviction that I'd deserve better but the fact remains, I am nobody;  nobody owes me anything.

The main takeaway? A quarter of cent, and nothing to show for it. Where is the line when you begin to question your sanity?

New year new nobody me. Heh.