The lights in the lab are always on, while my soul grows a little darker every day.
They say things will get better once I make it through these few years. But who gets to decide what “better” means?
Is it that unattainable degree?
That paper that will never get published?
Or a job I can only land by selling my conscience?
I’ve been here too long, long enough that I can’t tell whether I’m still a student or a machine that can run forever without refueling.
Sometimes I stare at the ceiling and wonder: if the Earth suddenly exploded tomorrow, would I finally be able to stop pretending any of this mattered?
When were all those so-called ideals, ambitions, and visions of the future pulled out of me?
I remember that when I first arrived, there was clearly a light in my eyes.
Then, eventually, the light went out.
Maybe it was worn away by that “boss” I never got to meet. Maybe it was crushed by this enormous, cold System that claims to nurture talent. Or maybe it was my own fault.
Maybe I took things too seriously. Maybe I was too naive. Maybe I was too ready to believe the polite words people said just to be polite.
I always wanted to understand what all of this was for, and the answer was usually: for a tomorrow that even the people saying it didn’t believe in.
I don’t know what I’ll write next.
Maybe about a dream I had in the early hours of the morning. Maybe about the apocalypse I imagine. Maybe about power games dressed up as scholarship and exchange. Or maybe about where I’d be now if I’d chosen a different path.
No structure, no main plot, no timeline, and none of the triumphant comeback of a power-fantasy hero. Just someone trapped in time, occasionally lucid and often losing it.
If you see this, please don’t ask me why I’m still holding on.
I don’t know either.
Maybe it’s just because the Earth hasn’t exploded yet.
Theme: A tribute to the ordinary world we can never return to.
