Diary Of Your Everyday Guy

At five in the morning, the sky was still cloaked in darkness. I woke up and began preparing for my first day of college. It didn't take me long, and by six o'clock, I was ready. As I prepared to leave, the sun began peering over the horizon. "You've got everything, right?" my mom asked. "Yes, I'm all set," I reassured her. After saying goodbye, I headed to the bus stop. My journey involved switching buses twice before reaching college. It was my first day, and nervousness was like a second skin. Would I be able to adapt? Would I enjoy college life like everyone else? I'd hoped to reinvent myself before college started, but by the end of the first semester, I felt like giving up. It was easier to stay in my comfort zone. Yet, on some days, an ache for companionship would surface. When I saw how self-centered others seemed, I convinced myself it was better to remain alone than risk being used. Still, a part of me longed for a miracle. I wanted something to pull me out of my misery and make things right. But the relationships I'd formed so far felt superficial, transactional even. Perhaps that's why people didn't hesitate to hurt me. They'd conceal their actions to avoid guilt, as though hiding their wrongdoing made it nonexistent. But no matter how hard they tried, I always found out. I never confronted them. What would be the point? They didn't care. By the time I enrolled in college, I'd decided not to form any new friendships. Yet, my suppressed desire for connection betrayed me. I tried—and failed—to reach out. It wasn't my fault I ended up this way. Someone once accused me of not valuing our friendship, and honestly, they weren't wrong. How could I cherish a connection where I constantly adjusted to their needs while they thought only of themselves? To avoid conflict, I'd adopted a calm facade, pretending ignorance of the things happening around me. But I wasn't ignorant. I knew everything. What could I do, though? Even if I wanted to change, it felt unattainable. I had no one to turn to, no one to rely on, and no one to inconvenience. So, I began preserving my true self by being withdrawn. While dwelling on these thoughts, the bus reached my stop. But the rush was so overwhelming I couldn't get off. What a fantastic start to my day. I stayed on until the final stop, which, fortunately, was near my college. With some time to spare, I decided to walk the remaining distance. The cold morning air nipped at my skin as I trudged along. Despite the missed stop, I arrived early—it was only seven, and classes wouldn't begin for another hour. xxx I found a spot on the damp, grassy ground and sat down. Morning dew glistened like tiny pearls in the early light. The stillness was comforting, a quiet I had grown accustomed to. Though I claimed to prefer solitude, I couldn't stop people from approaching me. If a stranger asked for my help, I'd probably oblige. Why? Because I understood what it meant to feel like a last resort. Most people had friends they could lean on. When someone sought my help, they usually had no one else. And so, I became that "nobody" they turned to. Some might call me foolish. What do I gain from helping others? Maybe I'm hoping for reciprocation someday. Or perhaps it's just my ego at play. Does helping people make me feel superior? No, it doesn't. But who will make me understand that just because I help someone doesn't mean they'll help me in return? I always forget that truth. People act kind initially, but when they've extracted all they can, they abandon the pretense. Their selfishness emerges, leaving me feeling used and discarded. I don't want to be used. I don't...