[I write stories because I don’t want to forget. I write stories because I want to remember. I write stories because I want to know who I am.]

he’s a little sensitive and isn’t good at hiding his emotions. his confidence could use some work, but he’s getting there, just one step at a time, he just needs to take it one step at a time. he lays in bed and wonders what his life will lead to. he hopes for reincarnation because he wants to restart. following behind Orion the Hunter, he is canis minor.

he talks about soccer balls and chasing after them, wondering when he could ever catch up to them, legs too short to follow. he chases after lost memories and wanders through the night of endless stars, entranced by their presence but unable to understand. his tail wagging, he looks to the people he holds close to his heart, sometimes he’s too dependent on them. he can’t help but seek their validation. but through and through, he’s kindhearted, or at least he wants to believe so. when he sees other dogs, he feels a kinship towards them that he can’t explain.

he’s often misunderstood, he bottles up his emotions only to release them in a torrent later. he’s unable to express his frustration without harming those around him in the process. he knows how to hurt people because he knows how to care for them, but he doesn’t know how to hurt others without hurting himself. he’s naive, opting to follow behind others instead of leading the way. he’s easily persuaded, his own opinions are only based off of others. he’s earnest (and too much so), taking on piles of work without taking into account his own well-being. he knows that emotions govern his life, but he wants to suppress them.

he’s chronically sleep-deprived. food is his primary motivator, and he’s been told more than once to chew, to chew slow. to feel each chew and to count to thirty before swallowing, but he swallows anyway because he’s too impatient. he gets stomachaches from eating too much and too fast. they say that there’s a second brain in your gut, and he only has his second brain. his first brain clocked out a few years ago. he should take things slower, he should learn to take it one step at a time.

he wants to sing. he howls at night while strumming a ukulele, trying to feel some semblance of self-esteem towards his own voice. he only knows one strumming pattern and tries to use it for every song. he writes lyrics and then throws them away in an hour. he could sing the same song on and on for the whole day if nothing stopped him. these days he just wants to chase his own tail, but he knows that he needs to stop sooner or later.

he feels like he’s missing something, but he doesn’t know what it is. he isn’t easily satisfied. hobbies that were once fun have become chores, his schedule fills itself with commitments, and schoolwork has lost its novelty. maybe he’s been reading too much sadboi ancient Chinese poetry. maybe he just gets tired too easily.

there was that one time he was asked out by a guy in high school. he was taken aback and replied with, “sorry, I’m not interested in you in that way.” he told the story to his mom later, and she asked him, “are you gay?”

“I’m not,” he replied, “why would you think that?”

“Well, you didn’t reject him by saying you’re straight. You said you weren’t ‘interested’ in him that way.”

he wasn’t able to reply.

it wasn’t just his mom. he was asked if he liked guys multiple times (too many times to count) throughout his life. but it was never a sincere question. it was always colored with hate. he was always the “feminine" one, the one with too many emotions, the one that did musical theater and didn’t play sports. those were what made them think he was gay. and so he hid and dug himself into a hole. he tucked his tail underneath his legs, pressed his ears against his head, and hid. he wasn’t gay. he just liked “gay things.” he told himself. he didn’t want to cave into the stereotypes that society built around him.

it’s only until recently that he’s been using words like “spouse" or “significant other” instead of “wife" or “girlfriend.” it’s only until recently that he’s been internally accepting himself. but he isn’t quite there yet. and he hadn’t told anyone about any of this until now. they say that there’s a spectrum, and he supposes that he might be at the center of it, but really, who even knows? not him.

he gets scared easily. and he isn’t one to make waves. he isn’t one to bark. he isn’t one to voice his opinions. he’s a coward in a lot of ways, and bravery isn’t his strong suit. he’s scared even now.

he’s usually the one who sits back and hopes that others understand him, but then becomes disappointed in himself when he realizes he hasn’t given any hints to be understood by. he sometimes feels like there’s a muzzle on his mouth.

he’s been going to the gym because he wants to be healthier. he also wants to look “better.” whatever that’s supposed to mean. he realizes that it’s probably that he wants to look more “masculine.” gender is such a construct. it’s almost silly sometimes. if his body is a house for his soul, he wants to build better roofs, better walls, and better windows. he wants to fill it with better furniture, better lighting, better pictures. but maybe he should learn to feel comfortable with what he currently has.

he wants to become an academic but lacks the logical capacity to write analyses that are well suited for his field. if he was any better at writing, then maybe he could have been a poet or an author of some kind, but for now, he’s a student looking into the future, unable to know what’s going to come next. he types up words that he’ll forget in an hour and sentences that become blurred in a second. nothing he writes is particularly novel, but he dwells on the same ideas: loneliness, memory, trauma, and stars. but his writing persona is different from who he is in reality.

he was an optimist and an extrovert, an ENFP. he was described as “sunny” and never not smiling. he was the one you could turn to if you were having a bad day. annoyingly bright. he was the one who was able to play video games even when under immense academic pressure and laugh even when he felt down. he’s still a dreamer, and he still has heart, but somewhere along the way his star has dimmed. maybe he just got tired.

but as winter arrives, and as the world needs more light than ever, he feels the need to open up. he’s breathing in fresh air and allowing himself to smile once more. he’s trying new things and letting go of old ambitions. he’s going to stress a little about grades but ultimately put himself first. he’s going to be true to himself. he’s not going to conform to others. that’s who he wants to be.

but, he knows that a week later, he’ll be writing another sad post about how his life is falling apart. but, when he does that, he wants to come back to this post and be able to read and remember. to remind himself to breathe and return home.

[I write stories because I don’t want to forget. I write stories because I want to remember. I write stories because I want to know who I am.]

Link: https://tinyurl.com/y5hshpoh

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