It’s about time to consider giving up.
It’s the second time within four days that people call me naïve. I hate this word; it sounds childish, like you’re gullible.
I’m too much of a skeptic to be gullible and too cynical to believe that people are genuinely good. You think I believe what certain employers say to me, but I don’t.
What I do is I immediately think about my dreams and goals, and I think I can reach them. If an employer says that I can earn 100k in a year, I only think about the debt that I owe to my parents. It’s not just the money but also the challenge involved. I can never learn enough.
At least now I know that London is full of hungry wolves – you have to be ruthless if you want to survive, and I noticed that I’ve not been ruthless enough. I’ve been hiding in my room, writing. I enjoy it, it has been the best year of writing, and I can’t accept that it’s over. I don’t want to take the next step to something that I don’t want.
But there’s no other way.
I chose to live in a city where it’s impossible to save money, where people are unavoidable and take you for granted.
I thought I found a one-bed flat for myself for a fair price, but it turned out to be a double room in a house. I took it because I had to move out of halls.
I have a nice Jamaican landlady, who talks a lot about survival, but I don’t really have my space. However, I’m renting a room at her house; it has a shower and a kitchenette, even a TV that I don’t use. I have to run downstairs to use the toilet, and my landlady’s usually in the dining room every late afternoon till late, working. So whenever I go downstairs, she’d stop me for a chat. It’s ok now and then, but I’ve been finding myself holding my bladder more often lately. On many days I just don’t want to talk. It’s difficult to tell people.
Today, my landlady has her granddaughter around. She looked at me like every child would – as though I was an alien. After a fucking “Ni hao,” I felt like slapping her mouth. She screams and laughs like a witch. I can’t stand this any longer. Envious of children because they are who I never was. I’d always kept my mouth shut as a child. A monster used to tell me to keep my mouth shut. It had outlived the child that I was.
I wish my mum remembered whether or not I cried at my birth. All I remember is the blue medical clamp on my belly button and a pink wristband.
Here’s my mask. Does it make me look like I’ve aged? I have aged.
I wish I had meine eigenen vier Wände.
I’m sick of telling friends about my life, but what else do you talk about with friends? How come I manage to feign enthusiasm? It was a lot easier in Germany, we just went dancing, but I’ve forgotten how to dance.
I’m so tired. But I grant myself no day off; there is no time. I’m proud to say that within six days, I produced 7,000 words. I’m getting ahead with Somewhat Damaged. I still need more time, but I can’t afford to take the time. I should have dedicated more time to writing during the studies than only 8-10 hours a day.
A slow writer like me needs MORE TIME. More time, more fucking time.
I’m accused of being naïve, biased, cynical and not knowing what I want. I’m none of that.
Think about what you want. I’m just fucking tired. But there’s no time to be tired, no time to wait. There are wolves out there; I have to look after myself. I have to face and deal with so many people, so how dare you call me that?
Feel lucky if you can choose the people you want around you. In the big city, you can’t do that. And it just happens that you bump into arseholes every day.
The only reason I let that agency brainwash me was that it had put me in a good mood; it indirectly made me believe that success wasn’t beyond reach. It was too good to be true, so I dwelt in it for a while.
You don’t even know why I do what I do. I’m a mistake machine.
My life builds on mistakes, miserable, menacing, mortifying mistakes. Do you ever believe that you don’t deserve certain things? But you know you can earn them by working hard? Working hard on something takes time; it always does. But as an artist, you have to work twice as hard. People with life numbers 2, 4 and 8 are the fuckers who know precisely how to get their way around the business world.
Am I biased again? Probably, but it’s nothing to be taken seriously. It’s only a way to explain the inexplicable. I LIKE MAKING THINGS UP. You should know by now.
My medication had killed my appetite, which was good because I no longer go to the gym. Now I feel hungry again; I wonder how I’ll survive this.
Maybe I should jog around the cemetery.
Sometimes I think about the best year of my life, and it was between the ages of 16-17. Millennium – that was it. I made my first proper friends; I went to Poland for an exchange, and it was the first time I got drunk. Everyone loved me. And then something clicked–I didn’t like myself.
I don’t care about my first day at work tomorrow. I think I low-balled myself for the executive position. I can’t be that worthless?
