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Fear.

what am I scared of? That’s not really a hard one. I’m scared of the mouse that lives in my kitchen. I’m scared of getting my braces tightened at the dentist. I’m scared of getting exam results at school. I’m also scared of dropping my crappy iPhone 4S and cracking the screen.

But my real fear, the one that eats me up inside is that my life will become the sad songs I’m so fond of listening to at night.

 I’m scared that my mum will die before her time, before I’m ready to face the world alone.

 I’m scared that I’ll become the lead in a romantic comedy with no romance and be the only one laughing at my jokes. 

I’m so, so scared that I’m wasting my life – unfulfilled and wasting potential. 

Because at the moment, what am I doing to prevent that?

I spend so much time in bed, I surprise myself when I go outside. My relationship with my family is barely tangible and needs a lot of work – work I’m not putting in. There are so many other problems which I haven’t even admitted to myself yet. 

And still I expect the world to turn me into something else, something new and improved. For it to swallow me and spit me out as something better, as if I haven’t quite grasped that life’s a bitch.

But I have. I read the news. I hear about the earthquakes, tsunamis and hurricanes. I hear about the terrible conditions people have to live in, in poverty and death. And, I hear about the intelligent, kind and revolutionary who have next to nothing, no education, no rights, and no money who still manage to deal with it and do so much. Giving back to humanity when God has given them nothing.

So why am I searching for a purpose? 

The worst kind of person is someone who has standards for other people but doesn’t live up to them themselves and I’m scared that’s what I’m turning into.

That is my real fear.

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