I never wanted to dream big; there was nothing I desperately wanted to pursue, and everything I could have dreamed of felt too extravagant. That's not to say I didn't have any dreams at all—though I only really had one.
To live a normal life. To study something that—whether I liked it or not—would provide a decent income; to live in an apartment large enough not to feel cramped, but not so big that it would be filled with purposeless rooms or extra space to clean.
In that life, I could afford little treats—a video game, a manga, a figurine, a painting, or anything else that caught my fancy. It was an overly simplistic view—a far too modest dream.
I treated it as if it were something difficult to attain, even though hundreds of millions of people live a life just like that, or perhaps even better. Getting an education, finding a job, working one's entire life until retirement—these were all just expected, mandatory steps.
They weren't achievements.
I knew it was all too vague, too ordinary. Would I even be happy in a life like that? Maybe I'd end up hating my job, never finding one I truly enjoyed. Maybe buying myself little treats wouldn't actually make my life any better. And that's not even mentioning the things I had overlooked.
Friends, family, being in a relationship, taking walks, visiting new places, making the most of my free time, doing household chores, pursuing other hobbies—these are all parts of a normal life, yet I had completely ignored them.
If I treated what was ordinary as a luxury, it's no wonder I viewed those other things as 'impossible' to attain. I didn't see myself as capable of achieving or experiencing anything that fell outside the scope of my modest dream. It all had to be done by me, alone.
I'm too shy—that's why I won't make any friends, let alone ever have a girlfriend. I'm too lazy; that's why I won't go out for a walk or do my household chores.
What was it that I actually needed, then? Was it that dream, or was it what would allow me to attain the things that lay beyond the reach of that dream?
I needed to change.
I used to think that if I weren't myself, I could accomplish so much more.
Ignoring the few good qualities I thought I possessed and focusing solely on the bad—that is something I have always done, and it is the primary reason why I have never truly changed.
I'm always talking about change, yet I never actually change—or at least, it doesn't feel like I do. I should be an adolescent by now, but I still feel like a child. Why am I the only one being left behind?
Watching the world around you evolve while you fail to achieve anything evokes a truly horrible feeling. There will always be things you don't want to see change, yet those very things will shift long before you're ready to accept it.
Nothing will ever be the same as it once was; yet, no matter how much things change, you don't feel as though you have changed yourself. But was being different actually what I needed?
I always used to say that the person I was at the time was the worst version of myself—that I needed to change, to become better. But whenever I imagined this "better version," there was hardly any of the original "me" left in it. That version was so brave, so open, so dedicated… It was *normal*.
I was constantly avoiding myself. I was always caught up in "If only I…," "What if…?", and "I wish…." I had only one dream, yet I never stopped dreaming. These were things I would quickly forget, but they represented what I truly desired.
Someone abnormal, dreaming of something normal.
But if I weren't myself—if I were to undergo a drastic change—everything I had dreamed of would become impossible. It would no longer be "normal"; it would be something else—something different, something abnormal. But perhaps… something compatible. He would have to let go of that dream.
He would have to forget.
An ignorant man with another dream.