This year in a few months, I will be 24. They say I’m becoming a man. I say I’m becoming myself and nobody else. And it sounds like something far beyond imagination on my tenth birthday, when I think about being twenty-plus. And someday near from now or tomorrow, without I’m being aware of it, 50 would come when I’m sleeping. But time is something insignificant to me. Even time is cruel, every tick means nothing to my system, but only as a reminder to do normal activities. Loneliness is everything I’ll ever need without constantly expecting some interference from outside world, even though they always manage to do it. I also from time to time had several close calls to death, experimenting the borderline of life and something beyond. Some happened in my dreams, some in my real life. It is not a big deal for me, but others make a fuss over it. Like my parents. They’re afraid losing something not theirs. My soul belongs to me, and me alone should be worrying about it, not them. But it is probably the reason they’re worrying about my soul because they never really acknowledge the freedom of existing in the place I visit the most, the place I love the most, so they never really think exceeding the life they’re living, which I believe on their understanding: nothing exist for us to go beyond this life. Even some religions believe on the idea of heaven and hell, but they could proceed to move on to the spiritual world only when they gave up on their life and souls. Still, we won’t be able to enjoy it or suffer for it nor even to tell the tale of it because, from what I heard, we lost our desires over worldly necessity when we died. Yet, none is able to prove it.

But people will always have to commute with their kind and never really understand about the very souls on their possessions, and to know that they could be free from anything, even from their own body if they wanted to. Only they never had the chance to grasp of it in the cause of preoccupied with their routine life, and misunderstood the idea of this freedom I am talking about. On the other hand, people tend to see me as some kind of weirdo with my solitary life – they would even think I’m weirder if they knew about the experiments I did about life and death. I am always be the one standing alone at the edge of the society. Just like when I was in high school, I had no one to called as a friend. Classmates were just classmates. Worked the same as fellow members in literature club. Nothing but a bunch of people in a same place and time doing the same thing. And to be real honest, there was nothing wrong with them. I understood enough about their kindness and their good intention to even tried coping with me. But I just couldn’t bear myself breathing among them.

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