Point Nemo

I think I’m failing at life, and I’m not even 25 yet.

I don’t have anything exciting to be announced,

I literally don’t know what to do with my life,

I keep changing jobs, constantly switching from being employed to unemployed to employed, and unemployed again—it’s a vicious cycle, really.

Keeping up with life feels like unending chores these days.

I must do this, and that, and those other things too.

I must make this exact amount of money at this age.

I must make my parents proud of me so I wouldn’t feel like a burden.

I must make my friends feel heard and at ease.

I must wash the dishes after work.

I must take a shower and take care of my hygiene.

I must clean my room.

I must move my body and do my stretches.

I must journal to express my thoughts so I’d stay sane.

I must succeed. Whatever it takes.

Even if it costs myself.

But what’s the end of the rope? This tight rope that I’m holding onto.

What is the end point?

What, even, is the point?

Because why does the mundane feel that unbearable to me?

It feels like I’m at Point Nemo.

There’s no use in swimming anymore, I'm already too far out to even see land anyways.

I’m not tired, I’m suffocated.

This sounds like a mere teenage complaint, or a young adult quarter life crisis.

Either one, I’m cooked.

People are gonna say, “Well this is life. It is what it is. People are literally bombed and they die everyday, and you’re complaining about this little thing? Get up!!”

So, I’m gonna say, “Where’s the mushroom cloud?”

I still wanna move to Bali and learn to surf though.

But if the cloud comes, I’m running towards it without second thoughts, probably.