I stared at the blank document on my computer screen, the cursor blinking impatiently as if mocking my inability to write. Forty-five minutes had passed, and I hadn't typed a single word. A tight feeling gripped my chest, my emotions a tangled mess, rendering me utterly useless for the task at hand. Melancholic, romantic music played softly from my headset, now resting on my neck, further deepening my melancholia.
My heart yearned for love, a longing intensified by the dramas I'd been consuming. These tales of damsels in distress meeting their destined lovers and experiencing profound romance left me feeling hollow and scared. Were Korean dramas to blame for this skewed perception of love, or was it simply that I was a terrible judge of character, constantly choosing the wrong person to share my life with?
People tell us these stories are mere fiction, that such things don't happen in real life. Yet, scrolling through social media, I couldn't help but see countless photos and stories of others, happy and in love, celebrating life while I remained stuck in my own misery. It had been years since I last went out with a high school friend. I'd lost contact with most of them, my fault really. I preferred retreating into my mind, seeking a happy place within myself.
I had graduated with a degree in Graphic Design, but it felt like a futile accomplishment. In my region, the career was poorly paid and overshadowed by cheap freelancers from abroad. I ended up working in customer support, a far cry from my dreams.
This was where I met my partner. Initially, it was exciting. But as time passed, the excitement faded, replaced by a monotonous routine. I cooked, cleaned, and did the dishes, while he ate, slept, and retreated to his studio. Our relationship felt more like that of roommates or best friends than lovers. I know it sounds harsh, but it's the truth.
I moved in with him after a year. At first, it was thrilling, but soon reality set in. I found myself not just caring for myself, but for another person as well. I cooked, cleaned, and managed the household chores while he seemed oblivious to my efforts. Happiness, I believe, defines the quality of a relationship. It's about being happy to see each other, to talk, to share, to make love. But now, our relationship felt dull and lifeless. After work, I dreaded coming home, knowing I'd have to clean up messes, figure out dinner, and tidy up before finally retreating to my sanctuary.
My sanctuary was my escape, a space where I could lose myself in books, dramas, games, and writing. With my headset on, I drowned out the world, immersing myself in my own little world. Every day felt the same. He would come to me whenever he wanted sex, and I would comply, hoping for a fleeting moment of relief. But my mind always drifted back to the "what ifs" and "should haves" that haunted my past choices.
Now, here I was, alone, friendless, staring at my screen, struggling to write something worthwhile. My job was a constant source of stress, and my partner felt like a mere passenger in my life. I longed for someone to sweep me off my feet and take me away from this dreariness, but deep down, I knew that was just another fantasy.
The house, once a place of excitement and possibility, now felt like a prison. Every corner seemed to echo with the remnants of dreams unfulfilled. The walls, adorned with posters of the graphic designs I once aspired to create, now mocked me with their bright colors and bold lines, a stark contrast to the grayness that had seeped into my life.
I would often find myself standing by the window, staring out at the world beyond, a world that seemed so vibrant and full of life. But here, inside these walls, everything felt stagnant. The routine had become unbearable. The morning alarm, the rush to prepare breakfast, the monotony of customer support calls, and the silent dinners where words were scarce and emotions even scarcer.
The kitchen, once a place where I experimented with new recipes and found joy in cooking, now felt like a battlefield. The sight of unwashed dishes piling up in the sink added to the weight on my shoulders. I used to take pride in keeping the house clean, but now it seemed like a futile endeavor, a never-ending cycle of mess and cleanup that mirrored the messiness of my emotions.
Even my sanctuary, the small room filled with books, games, and my writing desk, couldn't provide the solace it once did. The words refused to come, and the stories that used to flow effortlessly now felt forced and hollow. I would sit there for hours, the cursor blinking on a blank screen, a silent reminder of my creative block. The headset, once a gateway to another world, now felt like a heavy burden around my neck, the music only amplifying the loneliness and despair.
At night, as I lay in bed, the silence was deafening. My partner's soft snores beside me did nothing to fill the void. I longed for meaningful conversations, for a connection that went beyond the superficial. But every attempt to talk about my feelings was met with indifference or a quick change of subject. It was as if we were living in separate worlds, our lives intersecting only in brief, shallow moments.
The darkness of the room seemed to mirror the darkness in my heart. I would stare at the ceiling, my mind racing with thoughts of what could have been. The missed opportunities, the wrong turns, the dreams that seemed so distant now. The "what ifs" and "should haves" haunted me, robbing me of sleep and peace.
I knew something had to change. I couldn't continue living like this, trapped in a cycle of despair and dissatisfaction. But the thought of taking action, of breaking free from this routine, was terrifying. It meant confronting my fears, facing the unknown, and possibly making painful decisions. It meant admitting that I was unhappy and that things needed to change.
But for now, I remained stuck, paralyzed by fear and uncertainty. The days blended into each other, each one a repetition of the last. And as I stared at the blank document on my computer screen, the cursor blinking impatiently, I couldn't help but wonder if I would ever find the courage to break free and pursue the happiness I so desperately craved.