Signposts

Where have you gone, my friend? Where have you run, and is it so much better there?
It used to be you and me. And that guy, and a few others, against the world. The whole world, all of it, with their stupid rules and stupider traditions- none of which we would follow. We would find another way, doing what we loved, getting disgusting rich. It was you and me, man. Where have you gone?

Marriage, that’s where. Mortgage. Working for a bigger car, or the newest addition to your house. A rat in the rat race, a brick in the wall.

By fate or coincidence, I haven’t lost our ideals. I am still the anarchist, the stubborn child fighting windmills. And I will forever, if for no better reason, to keep your memory alive. And I stand alone in my fight, because you crossed no man’s land somehow, slowly, and joined the other side. I can’t help but feel more betrayed by you, my friend, with every step that you take.

When I was younger, I was terrified that I would live and die alone. I felt myself getting used to it and it made me fearful, that one day I’d become desensitized to the pain of loneliness, and accept it as a way of life.
These days, I am beginning to realize that this is pretty much what happened. It is becoming apparent that I’m not fit for the little-house, little-garden, little-tree life. It seems that I will never be part of a family, let alone one of my own making. It’s an alien environment to me and I can’t function there.

And you know what? That’s alright.
I could pretend that it’s something I am willing to work on, something I would like to change. But maybe, quite likely, I have, after all, desensitized. I am still a slave to my need for affection, but I have let fly the willingness to conform for it.


I can be happy within a family, yes. It’s enjoyable to see the household, and it’s easy to accept a mother figure there. But I can appreciate my time there because I am a guest and I have no obligations. I am not judged for my laziness or my morning mood. I stay, am cared for, and I leave, no questions asked and no harm done.

But having grown up in a chaotic, loveless environment, I should know better than to think I belong anywhere else. Realizing full well that many couldn’t live without the things they find in their cozy little family, I feel like I would sacrifice too much in my attempt to fit in. I would feel caged from day 1.

When I express these thoughts, most people go a long way to prove me wrong. For some meaningless reason, they must insist that I am saying terrible things and if I would just…
But just because this differentiates me from the general opinion, does that make me wrong? Should I really stretch myself to become something I’m not?

I’ll be honest, it’s a difficult thing sometimes, especially when you’re a 30-something looking for a meaningful relationship. Bitter as I might be, I still hope to find someone to spend whatever’s left of my life with. Just not someone with too many ambitions on the family front. And this is often a deal breaker.

So where did you go? You stood right here with me when I was young, we couldn’t wait to tell the world to fuck off. Only when I said it, I meant it. And trust me, you don’t know how good it felt when that time came: When literally everyone, including you, pushed me to fit in, compromise, be reasonable. And I told you, him, them, to fuck right off. Many times in fact, and if it were any kind of sane thing to do, I would climb the city’s cathedral and yell it out for everyone to hear.

Piss off. Leave me be. I am not a number, I am not a husband, I am not an employee, I am not a demographic, I am nothing you want me to be and therefore, pleased with myself. It wasn’t even all that hard- the only difficulty is the loneliness. Perhaps you should join me. Warm up your middle fingers, here comes another concerned citizen.

Travel, beg, squat, vandalize, trespass, protest, volunteer, create. Do anything, but do something. If for no better reason, because you promised, in an age when you were much smarter than you are now.

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