When you search the internet, the name ‘Marsha’ commonly means brave. A brave warrior, derived from the name of Roman’s god of war, Mars. Aside from that, when you type Marsha in Urban Dictionary, a description appears:
I’ve been told by friends and families that I’m an almost perfect girl. People are easily drawn to me, and it’s uncommon for me to be told that I am “every good and bad thing mixed in the right proportion”. Along with my name, as far as I remember, I’ve always been a brave warrior. I was that smart girl who voiced her opinion out loud in elementary school, always a teacher’s favorite. Head of study groups. Ran for head of student government in middle school. A usual first rank in high school. A national best speaker. Blazingly left a trail of achievements in university. Left the university with a coveted prize.
The brave warrior.
Like a microbial growth curve, my bravery slips down after a stationary phase. When I entered university, I was still a hard-logic gal with very high spirit of achieving, and ambition as my fuel. It started slipping down the curve when I entered ChemE. The first time ever for me to develop doubts on myself. But it was compensated. Boy, how it was compensated. No-brainer in reactors, but a Valedictorian nevertheless.
Looking back at those times, I’m missing the things left of my current life.
I’m now a clueless, loveless, aimless 23-year-old girl trying to build castles in the air. Leaving home, leaving behind a mark that’s probably not going to last. Terrified of having a bitter ending, of realizing that dreams do not come true. And on top of that, I’m losing my dreams. I don’t even know what to dream anymore. I don’t even know what I’m searching for. I don’t even know what to fight for.
My option A was lost, and I’m trying to kick the shit out of option B.
I have no direction in my career. No goals to pursue. No life to plan. I’ve lost my competitiveness, my type-A cells die slowly inside my non-functioning cerebrum. I’m living in an autopilot mode, going wherever the world wants me to go. Let them be my driver, my automatic system. I’m keeping myself warm and work to supply its electricity and its fuel and hoping that it would take me somewhere good. Boondoggling my own life until I can somehow make it. Or fake it till I make it.
I’ve been hurt, and it is universally accepted that it is not always easy to fix something broken.
The last closeness with a human soul left me detached. As if I am someone not worthy of being fought for, not good enough to spend a lifetime with. It makes my confidence corrode. My overflowing love, emotions, and gentle care I was always so ready to fill someone else with, retires to its own sanctuary, too afraid of going through the windy field, too afraid of mitigating yet another risk, longing for a key to unlock its tightly protected fortress.
Here I am, living my life in a complete emptiness, losing my drive.
I am still that almost perfect girl. A mix of every good and bad thing in the right proportion. Somewhere inside me I still keep that brave warrior mummified inside her battle suit. The only thing that’s changed is having a black hole that sucks all my glows.
And I’ve been doing nothing about this disastrous event, silently waiting for the magic of new beginnings, half realizing that I’m not going anywhere with these frozen feet.
God, help me.