I come to realize that I have isolated myself for the most part of my life. At first emotionally while growing up, probably because of fear of being seen weak, or probably because I simply could not open up to people because of a matter of trust. But over the years I have felt myself growing and maturing. But then I ask myself, am I really mature? Am I really grown up? If I am, how do I know it? When does one get there? Is it when you get rid of your impulsiveness and rashness? Is it when you become independent? I mean who set the rules about maturity and growing up?
In the few months that have passed I have almost literally felt myself growing out of my own skin. If I look back at last year I can see distinctly what a child I was, and I am sure in years to come I will read this and think of how childish I am being now. It’s a cycle really, you grow up, then you grow up some more, and you wonder if it will ever stop. But this time, I think it’s happening faster than I have ever wanted it to. Soon I will be expected to go back to Beirut, and I am expected to fall back into the frame I have been living in, and I don’t see myself there. I don’t see myself going out, getting drunk, and going to work hungover. I don’t see myself being the same person my family and friends have said goodbye to at the airport.
I have grown older, and I still feel like I isolate myself emotionally and detach myself from the people around me. And a conclusion I have reached lately is that probably this is the reason why I always fall in love with people who seem unavailable or unattainable. Sometimes, for like a few seconds I envy those simple religious morons who know nothing of life but to follow some rules that they believe will be their salvation. But the scary part is that when I really think about it, although it causes a lot of pain, I love how twisted and dark I feel myself sometimes. I have diagnosed myself as an emotional masochist. The more I hurt emotionally, the more I love it.