I realised how easy it is to lose myself once I get into the monotonous routine of doing things, things that are of no value to anyone but the person signing my paycheck.
By "losing myself", I meant the death of my fervent passion and all (previously-sworn) undying love for things. Everything.
I cannot dedicate my life to one purpose or one designated position.
I am too eclectic, too greedy. I flit around, I do not linger.
There is so much beauty in this world that warrants my attention.
How can I waste all my energy on ONE thing?
I cannot possibly equate my life to a single noun.
But perhaps, I have not found my calling.
I have dreams, but I am always on the search for something even better.
I have not built my principles on firm grounds. Too changeable, too fickle, too open-minded.
I am ashamed to admit that I can bend principles for people.
For once, I yearn a stubborn heart.
When I lose myself, my faith hinges on precariously - ready to collapse like a house of cards stacked on weak foundation.
That is me. The inner me.