of words and self-pity

I believe that in our lives there comes a point when we finally choose to throw in the towel, wave that white flag, and call it quits. There’s no certainty how and when that moment will arrive, but what I’m fairly sure of is that when that time comes there is no turning back.

It can take as long as decades or arrive as quickly as in a few weeks. All I know for sure is that there is that resigned feeling that stirs your chest every now and then. There is that lingering feeling of guilt and disappointment because you’ve failed to see something through to the end. But there’s that feeling of acceptance (or resignation, whichever way you want to look at it) probably as a poor excuse for proper closure.

It’s a shame, though. After working on something, for something, towards something, before you reach the end, you quit. It’s such a waste to have spent sleepless nights, drank cups upon cups of coffee, toiled for hours upon that single goal that was.

There’s this heavy feeling in my chest at the moment and I would like to rationalize it by saying it’s probably a side effect of destructive sleeping patterns for the past few days. But I’d be lying because the truth is I’m guilty and I’m disappointed at myself for having quitted when I’m literally thisclose (it’s Finals Week, this week) to finishing this semester.

It’s quite a pity. What’s worse is that the pity comes from me.


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