I’m heading for a cliff’s edge where no bridges have been built. I worry, not to fall over, but to foolishly stand there looking over the drop.

I’m on a pursuit for a path that not only feds the passing of time, but leads to a destination. Only, I realise that while time passes whether we want to or not, destinations are only halts we do not leave. There is no purpose in choosing left or right, only between going and stopping. Whether you are there yet, is entirely up for you to decide.

I listen to some of my best friends speak with such excitement about searching for a job that pays better, a car that run smoother, a new pair of shoes, a house with a larger kitchen, to get married-have kids-have another one, to get another badge on the resume, or to f*ck someone new… A sort of upgrade from the current state of things based on the imbalance of discontent and the pursuit of more. Their stable lifestyle making them arrogant, disconnected from the reality of their blessings, their comfortable beds and their luxury food a right, not a gift. Is this what happiness is: more? The temporary joy of upgrading your life through things and other people…

I’ve started to ask myself not who do I want to be, but rather who do I wish I was, when I die. Only, I struggle to understand what will matter then, as I do not know what really matters now.

All I can tell is that I’m desperate for anything larger than the fleeting joy of buying a pretty refrigerator or the unjustified excitement of kissing someone who doesn’t know your last name. Instead, I take my pills as I have them; I shower and put on my face, sometimes sleep next to someone who keeps the bed warm, I escape to locations where no-one knows my past, and buy cheap junk from China that I too often almost immediately throw away. Temporary contentment, a plastic purpose manufactured for the masses, a pornography-style orgasm.

Bambi once told me to see the joy in drinking my morning coffee, so she and Pandabear give me beans from their exotic destinations. I know, I am spoiled by a lifestyle where I need not fight for food or shelter and I acknowledge my blessings. Yet, it is my greatest fear to become a person only in pursuit of more instead of something real. Right now I fear that, all my possible destination, left or right, to stop or continue, all are shaded with the tint of more. A lost soul for believing, I wonder: Is there perhaps nothing else?