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Desperate Housefag

In 3 days or so I will have been away from my home for a month pursuing this crazy dream – and I hope it remains so for the following two years – called “I’m stupid enough to pursue an MBA degree”. There will be a lot of tears, pain, frustration, self-doubt, self-loathing and emotional eating ahead. It’s sort of like surviving to a Japanese game show but without a person in a panda costume randomly appearing for the sake of comic relief.

But let’s not go there just yet. Let’s talk about my wondrous household skills. You know, I never really thought about taking housework lessons before I moved out of the house where all I needed to do was ring a bell and point a finger to get things done. That, my friends, is the perfect example of why I desperately need MBA studies: I suck at foreseeing imminent disaster.

The worst part of it all is not realizing that you are incredibly useless; I realized that a thousand years ago and lived perfectly happy regardless. The problem here is that I am sharing a place with another dude and he’s not precisely thrilled about it. If there’s something that I hate more than animal cruelty it is public humillation – mine to be precise.

Let’s take for example that beautiful summer day when I innocently asked how the washing machine worked. He looked at me in disbelief and then with compassion thinking that perhaps that kind of technology was not available where I lived before. So he asked me in a very subtle way if I had one at home or not. I readily replied that I did and that her name was Maria.

I don’t know why I expected to suddenly learn all this stuff as soon as I moved out of my house. Isn’t that how adulthood works?

So now, not only does he know I’m useless, but he has also found out that I’m a bit of an elitist asshole. Oh, bummer. The really sad part is that that is not the end of the story. That was like the first day only.

Then I found myself against the biggest challenge of my life – and just so you know, I’m not talking about finding a hot, rich, successful, intelligent, caring, hung husband (although…), I’m talking about cooking. That, my friends, is the final boss of adulthood. One does not simply walk into the kitchen without even knowing how to boil water. I’ve been through some very, very, very fun and life-threatening situations these past weeks.

To not make things more awful for me than they already are, let’s just say that toasting bread is not as easy as it sounds and it can successfully start a fire. The worst part was that my roomie came home right when I was running with the extinguisher to put out the fire. Jesus-fucking-Christ. That was our first day living together.

Best first impression or best first impression ever?

One month later, I can finally say that my food is actually edible when it is not burnt beyond repair. I’ve decided to celebrate the small victories or else I will be drowning myself in the hot tub in no time.

Did I mention just how hot my roomie is by the way?

After failing at pretty much everything in life, I had to start parading around the house in my underwear. I figured that, if anything, that would derail him from not kicking me out of his place in the near future. Obviously I keep screwing up on a regular basis so the time is near when I will have to wear my birthday suit.

By the end of the third week he half-joking half-worried asked me if I could do anything at all. I was so offended that I replied with the only thing that came to my mind: I’m great at doing it.

Unfortunately he didn’t want me to show him.

But not everything is bad, I mean, this whole experience has shown me to live life as if any day could be my last and you know what?

If I continue cooking, it might as well be.


A month ago I hopped on a plane and got my tight ass to South Africa to volunteer at Lion Park. Apparently, my quarter life crisis is suicidal or something. That’s the only reason I can think of to justify what I did. Well, that and all the amazing TV specials on the Discovery Channel.

Either way, I was hoping to do something to give back to the world instead of just being beautiful because, while my gene pool is just fabulous, I seriously doubt it is actually contributing to wildlife preservation. That and I also wanted to travel somewhere exotic and burn my dad’s black AmEx.

So I decided to go to Lion Park and regretted it immediately after the payment passed. Oh, my God! What the hell was I going to do in Africa? I mean, I could spend a whole month doing my boyfriend at the beach or sleeping with strangers in Paris. I am so not used to camping or sweating or picking shit up or hard work.

Well, yolo.

This was perhaps the most incredible experience I could ever have. I am so happy to have gone to South Africa – despite the fact that I no longer smell of Chanel but of lion pee – and gotten out of my comfort zone. I took care of lions, camped among zebras, antilopes and giraffes, walked with cheetahs and elephants, held humongous snakes in my hands and swam with sharks and I didn’t die like I thought i would, much to my surprise.

It was a period of my life when even the littlest thing was something new to me. An experience that showed me what I am capable of and just how big a repercussion even the tiniest action can have in the life of another living being.

I loved the ‘me’ that I met down there. The ‘me’ that takes risks and is not afraid of what might happen next. The ‘me’ that survives so far away from home and comes back victorious. The ‘me’ that does stuff not only for himself, but for others.

Out of all the crazy and weird decisions I’ve made throughout my life, volunteering was the best and most rewarding one. It was something I was so afraid of doing and I’m truly happy I went through with it.

Also, everyone in South Africa is so fucking hot.

Opportunity Cost

I remember when I  was 21 – for the record, I am still 21 and will be for the next 10 years, but I’m talking about that one time when my birth certificate matched that age – and all I wanted to do was pack my bags and go away.

Oh, the days I spent daydreaming of the moment when I could do that! It all seemed so impossible back then… And here I am, some years later, with a real chance at arm’s length.

I remember perfectly what one of my teachers told me when I told her about my desire to move away:

Si tu veux partir, il faut le faire avant 27 ans. C’est trop difficile après ça.

Translation: If you want to go away, you must do it before you are 27. It will be very difficult otherwise.

Of course I dismissed her.

I would never be afraid of leaving, right? It’s what I desire the most. This woman must be crazy.

Yeah, that’s what I thought back then.

Fast forward to the moment when I decided to apply to MBA programs: Nope, still standing strong.

Fast forward again to a couple of months after receiving the acceptance letters: HOLY. SHIT.

That’s me everyday.

I can’t believe it but I am actually terrified of leaving. I’ve left before but all those times I knew I would come back. This time around, however, I’m in the dark and it’s killing me. Besides, I’ve thought a lot about the opportunity cost of such a decision: I could as well invest that money on a startup and skip all the lectures and textbooks and essays and all those things that threaten to ruin an otherwise great experience.

Of course, there’s also the fact that I will never make as much money as I need/want as an employee (regardless of hierarchical level) as the amount I could make with the family business. Well, perhaps if I become a CEO of a multinational, but that will take time and will most likely take a toll on my hairline, so thank you but no thank you.

To be honest, it’s also the fact that I’m leaving my boyfriend behind, but, as Beyonce sang, if he liked it then he should have put a ring on it and he didn’t… There’s too much water under that bridge, but whatever, I guess I’m leaving.

I don’t know if it is the best thing to do, but I am sure that staying is definitely not. So, I’ll pack my bags and play it by ear after that. As another wonderful teacher told me once when I was telling her about my wanting to go back to France and how impossible that seemed:

Tout est possible dans cette vie.

So, yeah, everything’s possible. I guess it’s just a matter of deciding on it.

By the way, I chose Canada in the end. We’ll see how that goes.

By the way #2, I think that second teacher I quoted died a few months ago.

By the way #3, I hate Beyonce but that song is pretty damn accurate to my shitty love life. Maybe it’s because I did a lot of… well, “things” before getting that ring.

In conclusion: My life is a mess..

… but at least my pop culture game is strong.

The last Step in the MBA Process

After a year and a half of having terrible nightmares about the GMAT, the TOEFL, the essays and the interviews, tonight I will finally sleep soundly. Yes, all these feelings of uncertainty and weariness, the MBA application process is over. And what is even better, I got accepted to the three schools I applied to. Yes, today is a good day.

I still don’t know which business school I’ll end up going to. Here are my options:

  • Emory Goizueta (Atlanta):

Pros: Top tier business school with a strong focus on marketing. Many applicants have similar career objectives and even more alumni hold positions appealing to my expectations. I can stay in the US for 12 months after the program completion to land a job and wing it from there. My boyfriend could land a job close by.

Cons: Program costs and competitive environment among classmates. Also, Atlanta doesn’t seem that great of a city.

  • McGill Desautels (Montreal):

Pros: Good integrated program and learning method with multiple exchange options (including ESSEC), plus I secured a nice scholarship. Max employment rate three months after graduation. Great French speaking city to live in. I can stay up to 2 years after graduation.

Cons: -41°C in winter? Seriously? Also, most companies in Canada are all about oil and gas. Not my cup of tea.

  • ESSEC (Paris):

Pros: Paris doesn’t need a reason, Paris is the reason. Well, that and the partnership with top luxury companies. Huge network with alumni holding top positions in many Forbes 100 companies. Also, it has the most interesting curriculum regarding my professional objectives.

Cons: Program lasts one year only. Expensive program (cost-duration wise) in a very expensive city. Strong competition among students. Job market is shitty, particularly for international candidates. Industry is very small and heavily relies on networkwing. Most international graduates end up going back to their country of origin or in one of the BRIC countries in retail positions. Uh, no. Riskiest choice for a person like me who’s looking for job opportunities abroad.

If I were to choose a program based solely on its strong points, I would definitely choose ESSEC. However, I feel like it is too big of a decision to not think about what might happen afterward. In that sense, McGill Desautels could be the safest bet, while Emory Goizueta is somewhere in between those two.

In the end I’ll end up choosing based on one thing alone:

Where the hottest single gay guys live in.

The Quarter-Life Crisis

I came across one list on BuzzFeed that was actually not about cats. I know, right? I should had bought a lottery ticket because it was obviously my lucky day. Oh, well. So, anyway, this list was about the quarter-life crisis.

Wait, what? So this actually exists? I thought I was just bullshitting when I told anyone willing to listen my friends and family about it. Well, more like about me going through it.

Without further ado, here’s the list:

1. You’ve been daydreaming about doing something crazy.

You mean, like quitting my job and taking a plane to Johannesburg to volunteer in a wildlife protection program for the next two months? Yeah, I’m doing that in May. Or perhaps it refers to me going to grad school in September? Both plans are pretty damn crazy, especially according to my parents who are obviously paying for everything.

2. … but you feel paralyzed by indecision.

Of course, because I can either go to Paris, to Atlanta or to Montréal to pursue my MBA studies and I have no fucking clue of where to go. I’m very scared that either option might not bring me the fulfillment I’m looking for.

3. You feel increasingly nostalgic for your high school and college days.

Exactly. Because there was no problem that couldn’t be solved by pulling an all-nighter to write that essay one should had written two weeks earlier. That and also being with my friends on a daily basis with no worries other than not getting incredibly plastered and dying in a car accident. Those were the days.

Also, I’m pretty sure that if I were in high school, I wouldn’t had had such a bad time preparing for the GMAT, but that’s a whole other story.

4. The idea of making a budget terrifies you.

Can’t really relate to that one. I’m actually pretty good with my money, and I’m even better spending others’ money.

5. You’re starting to think of your dating life differently.

So, I want to get married – big surprise, right? – and, as you may have noticed from previous posts, my boyfriend of 9 years and me are not really seeing eye to eye on this. Then again, we have been together for so long that I’m just too lazy to try and move on to something better. I don’t really see myself jumping from one bed to another (although I could) at my age. I rather put that energy to good use and get through a marathon of my favorite series.

6. You have a sudden, intense fear of failure.

I was accepted to all the MBA programs I applied to. I should be incredibly happy and proud of myself, but I am not. I have no idea how to achieve my goals because I am not even sure of what my goals are. What if I fail at whatever the hell I am supposed to do after grad school? Oh, God. Sometimes I wish I were less ambitious to just let myself go with the flow. Life would be so much easier without all this decision-making!

7. You’re bored with your friends.

I wouldn’t say ‘bored’, but they’re not particularly fun anymore.

8. You constantly compare yourself to your friends who are your age…

And they’re already getting fucking married or even having children and me? Well, I’m just getting drunk or high, depending on the day.

9. …or your parents when THEY were your age.

They were married, had bought a house and had me… and they were already on their way to start a company worth millions of dollars. What have I done so far? Well, it’s not like I’m completely useless, you see? For instance, I remembered to feed my cat today. Oh! And I caught 6 new Pokémon too! Man, I’m on fire!

This is probably why my parents decided to take me out of their will.

10. You feel like your twenties aren’t turning out how you expected they would.

Where’s my huge-ass wedding ring and my yacht in the French Riviera?

Seriously? Don’t even get me started on this one.

The only thing that makes this quarter-life crisis list a bit easier to digest (if possible) is the fact that it is on BuzzFeed. That must mean that there are dozens of people going through the same existential crisis I am. Of course that doesn’t make it any easier for me.

On a second thought, perhaps it wasn’t my lucky day at all.

Cat pictures make everything better… for a while at least.




As God is my Witness

Her burdens were her own and burdens were for shoulders strong enough to bear them. She thought without surprise, looking down from her height, that her shoulders were strong enough to bear anything now, having borne the worst that could ever happen to her.

Of a sudden, the oft-told family tales to which she had listened since babyhood, listened half-bored, impatient and but partly comprehending, were crystal clear. All had suffered crushing misfortunes and had not been crushed. Malign fate had broken their necks, perhaps, but never their hearts. They had not whined, they had fought. And when they died, they died spent but unquenched. Kinsmen who had taken the worst that fate could send and hammered it into the best. It was her fate, her fight, and she must conquer it.

I decided to read Gone with the Wind once again.

I found the book at my grandma’s house ten years ago, two years prior to her death. The first time I read it, I remember thinking how my grandmother resembled so much to Scarlett O’Hara. Both of them were strong and beautiful women. However I was too young to further analyze the similarities.

I made up my mind a few months ago and decided I would read it again. Not an easy task when getting through the first 100 pages is a real test of one’s patience. But I did it and I could still feel all the emotions it made me feel the first time around. Yes, it is a great book, indeed.

So many things happened in such a short time: College, my grandmother’s death, betrayal, getting raped, etc. And yet, Scarlett’s strength helped me get through those days. It might sound stupid, but that’s the way it was. I have always find it funny how humans can find strength in the most absurd things, and yet, here I am.

So, now, ten years later, I read the book again. I read it in  a time when my life is infinitely times better than it was back then. And I thoroughly enjoyed it because, in spite of the hardships, the disappointments and the bad decisions, I have come out triumphant. Yes, it was sweet to find out that my burden had not stopped me. But that doesn’t make me happy.

Every time Scarlett focused on a new goal, her life was an ordeal until she had reached said goal. However, soon after attaining it, she would only find out that she was still missing something else to be happy, forever trapped in a vicious circle that only brought her loneliness. And she’s exactly who I am these days.

I have many important decisions ahead. I know the answer to each of them and I am certain that they will make me happy, but for how long? And, more importantly, at what cost?

I’m sure that people (the ones I truly care about) support my decision, but will they be around long after I’ve taken it? Am I willing to sacrifice them, just like Scarlett did, to try and grasp the happiness I’m so desperately looking for?

More importantly, what will I do once I’ve achieved my current goals? Will I be happy then? Or, as I suspect, will I set my eyes on a new goal as soon as I see my current ones through?

What will it take for me to be truly satisfied?

And still, even with all these doubts fears, I will not give up. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever. I promised myself, and that is the one promise I will keep no matter what.

“As God is my witness, I’m going to live through this, and when it’s over, I’m never going to be hungry again. If I have to steal or kill–as God is my witness, I’m never going to be hungry again.”

The Count of Monte Valmont Cristo


I tend not to capitalize that acronym but this time it’s worth it. I did something so awesome that I can’t but laugh out loud at the whole situation. Gather around, children, grandpa Valmont is going to tell you a story:

Once upon a time, in a far away kingdom, there was this incredibly hot and intelligent prince. His name was Mau Valmont and, boy, was he in for the adventure of a lifetime!

Ahem… yeah, anyway… Let’s go back in time to August 2013: I had been going to a thousand job interviews because my job was killing me slowly and painfully. Of course my boss found out and she yelled at me like there was no tomorrow while I sat there and reflected on how to sum up her rant in 140 characters or less for my Twitter followers to laugh at it listened. The following week, she wanted to talk to me again to ensure that her attempt to psychologically abuse me had been successful I understood her point of view. Me, being the great actor that I am, came across as repented and forgiving, so she moved on to something that had been killing her for a while now: my wish to pursue MBA studies.

Well, I didn’t see that coming. She accepted to help me out with my application as long as I promised to stay at the company till the day I had to jump in a plane and leave Mexico forever. I promised her I would only if she agreed to give me other responsibilities and help me develop other skills. Well, we had a deal, or so I thought.

November came by and nothing had changed. Actually, I’m lying: Many things had changed, for the worse. So obviously she wanted to talk to me again to do some damage control. Yeah, that didn’t work out.

Perhaps she was drunk or perhaps she decided it was time to burst my pink bubble. I’ll never know, but she decided to be brutally honest with me. She told me that none of the things that she had committed herself to do for as long as I remained there would happen. She didn’t even intend to make things happen. So basically, she had been lying to me, but she asked me to be strong and suck it up, saying that better things would eventually come my way.

Well, fuck that and fuck her.

So I sat there, nodding and smiling while I plotted my revenge. Well, actually, I just went through my delivery calendar to choose the best day to quit, but “revenge” sounded more badass.

December came through and brought with it a thousand new projects that my boss decided to hand down to me since I was her bitch had all the experience and skills needed to see them through successfully. Yeah, right. It was a bit of a shocker when I didn’t complain about the workload, but she thought that it was a Christmas miracle.

On December the 30th, my boss was supposed to go to the office, but obviously she didn’t because she decided to take some “much needed” (according to her) vacations. So I had a brief discussion with myself over when to drop the bomb. I could do it that day and ruin her New Year’s Eve or I could do it on January the 2nd and ruin her birthday (which was on January the 3rd). Either way, I was going to ruin her holidays, so, yeah, who cares.

And then it happened.

I quit my job and told everybody at the office that I just couldn’t let this great opportunity pass me by. Just when I thought they couldn’t be angrier at me for leaving, I told them I had to leave in five days from that date, so all the projects that had just been handed down to me would need to be taken care of by someone else. After three years of my boss wiping her ass with my face, it was finally time for payback.

Revenge is a dish best served cold and trust me, it has an exquisite taste.


All these feels.

That’s the best way to summarize my life these past weeks.

I decided to quit my job after finally realizing my bitch of a boss had no intention whatsoever of supporting me, of supporting my career path. So, after careful thought – because I’m a cold and conniving bitch – I decided to do it. Of course I haven’t done it yet. I have picked the best date possible to do so: The day before my boss’s birthday.

Yeah, I am that kind of person.

I didn’t actually decide to do it then for that particular reason but, whatever. Point is, I’m quitting.

Ever since I made up my mind, I haven’t given a fuck about work at all. Of course I still do what I have to do, but with zero involvement, no added value, no proactivity, no nothing. I decided to just let life happen, and fuck me if it hasn’t been great! After I stopped worrying about things and began minding my own business, not solving other people’s problems, not trying to have the best relationship with my account contacts, not going to extreme lengths to please my boss, etc., I was actually able to enjoy my life at work.

I dare even say that I have been thoroughly happy these past weeks, even with my asshole co-workers around. Yes, this feeling has been great.

I was also pretty fucking happy because my boyfriend was finally moving back to Mexico and we would spend what was left of our time together. Hell, I was even planning on becoming the proud owner of a pug. Yes, the thought of living life as a couple also kept me going. It kept me going even though I was pretty damn sure it would last less than Kim Kardashian’s 72 days long marriage.


Because I was also done with my MBA applications and I was 80% certain I would be accepted to the business schools I had applied for. So, yeah, there were some major changes ahead and I wasn’t oblivious to them. But I didn’t care. I felt like I could really be happy, if only for a few months.

Then everything went to shit. Well, actually, it is [about to go / already going] down the drain.

I haven’t had all my applications results back yet but I have already been rejected once. Not the best news, really. Especially when that was the best business school I could had hoped for. Yeah, not great news, but I was holding up. But now I’ve just hung up with my boyfriend after his great job interview which he surely passed. I’m ecstatic for him, because that means he’s going to have a better job, live in a better city and have a better life overall. But I can’t kick away the feeling that that life does not include me at all.

How ironic, seriously. Two weeks ago, I was certain that I would be the one leaving him, jumping on a plane and pursuing my dream. And I didn’t care. Now it is him who’s leaving and me who’s staying and I feel like shit. And I know this is how he’s felt for the past five months. And I don’t know how he managed to keep up and support me in spite of how painful that was for him.

And now it’s my turn to be the bigger person for him.

Now it is me who’s smiling and encouraging him to go. Now it is me who bawls his eyes out as soon as I’m left alone.

Now it is me who’s going through hell and I fucking hate it.

You have one Job

So, every now and then you take a look around at your workplace and wonder how all these fucking assholes very talented people ended up working next to you or even managed to get hired at all. I know, right? It’s like, what did you do in your previous life to be so damn lucky? After giving some thought to it, I am certain I must have been Hitler Gandhi in one of my previous lives, like, there’s no other explanation for me to be knee deep in shit so fortunate now.

What do all of them have in common anyway? Well, they were all hired by the same team of assholes professionals, for starters. With such a great team in HR, no wonder I’m stuck with these co-workers.

It turns out my company is in red numbers this year. There has been a hell lot of budget restrictions, no promotions, no raises, no training, no nothing to make life in such hell heaven a little bit more bearable charming. Yeah, but all these limitations do not apply to the wonderful people at the HR department. Hell, no.

Those bitches only have one job, and that is to do things to keep the real moneymakers – my department – happy, right? Well, apparently they didn’t get the memo. Instead, they begged the HR director to buy them all Macs with the whole Adobe Creative Design package installed. So that’s like 5K USD each. Well, of course, I’m not Fidel Castro, I’m OK with people asking for more resources to do their jobs better, but, you know, that’s the keyword right there: better. That is something those fuckers have no intention to do, obviously.

One of them in particular is in charge of all internal communication, so obviously she has to do all these great flash animations and shoops and draw fucking ponies pooping rainbows everywhere to keep us motivated and shit, right? Well, I am no expert and yet I’m pretty fucking sure I could do a better job on Paint. Seriously. Bitch, just stop wasting humankind’s oxygen the company’s money!

What is even worse is that she’s in charge of our company’s 15th anniversary celebrations too, like it wasn’t bad enough already. She had the moronic amazing and ever so original idea of celebrating every single day of November and build up the tension joy till the anniversary party on the 30th. Well, isn’t that sweet?

Just so you know, it isn’t.

I’m sorry but hiring a saxophonist to play during Monday on rush hour is not my idea of celebration. Moreover, bringing a clown and a wizard when you’re in the middle of ripping a client’s throat a nice and warm conversation with your favorite client is also idiotic nice. I don’t know where she gets these incredible ideas but seriously, just stop fucking wasting my bonus money and die already! Not even your mom will miss you! In fact, I’m sure that, if the morning pill were retroactive, she would had been the poster girl.

On very, very, very related news: That bitch was “mugged” some months ago and the “thief” beat the shit out of her. There are many scare quotes in that last sentence for a good reason: I’m pretty sure that the so-called thief was actually an employee who just couldn’t keep up with her shit anymore.

Actually, it was me.

Am I a Cat?

So I had been reading I am a Cat by Soseki Natsume for nearly 8 months because it was just so fucking boring good that I wanted to enjoy it for as long a I could. I just kept wondering why I had chosen such a dreadful book when there were plenty others I actually wanted to read first. Well, that’s cos I am a shallow asshole love cats and I saw one beautifully drawn on the cover, so, yeah… that goes to anyone who does not believe I’m a blond at heart. I judged the book by its cover, and life didn’t miss the chance to teach me a lesson on it. That bitch.

So 640 pages later, I fiinally got to the ending. I was elated at the mere thought of finally being done with this book. Only thing is, I didn’t know what was in store for me: Turns out that the cat dies, and this wasn’t shocking just because it was the only relevant thing that happened in the entire book, oh, no! It was shocking because I could actually relate to it, and that fucking sucked.

I would put a warning about the massive spoilers ahead but no one reads this blog anyway, so fuck that shit.

So the cat drinks some alcohol, decides to go for a walk and falls into a clay jar from which it can’t get out. The cat describes its desperation and frustration while struggling to save its hairy ass from certain death. In the end the cat says something along the lines of:

I’m only in agony because I want to escape from the jar. Now, much as I’d like to get out, it’s obvious that I can’t. Accordingly, since it’s blindingly clear that I can’t get out, it’s equally clear that it’s senseless to persist in my efforts to do so. Only my own senseless persistence is causing my ghastly suffering. How very stupid. How very, very stupid deliberately to prolong the agonies of the torture.

I’d better stop. I just don’t care what happens next. I’ve had quite enough, thank you. I give up and relax. Gradually I begin to feel at ease.

And so the cat gives up and drowns.

So what’s so shocking about this ending? Well, I nearly died once in a very similar fashion. The only difference is that, once I gave up and began drifting away, I decided to fight for my life one last time. If you haven’t figured it out already: I survived, barely.

Fast forward to many years later: What the fuck am I doing with my life? What am I expecting from it? Why am I still working at a place I loathe? Why am I pursuing an MBA? Why am I trying so hard to leave my current life behind? Why do I even bother at all? Why? Why? I feel desperate, frustrated, anxious…

Am I like the cat, just trapped in a clay jar, struggling to get out but knowing that I’ll grow tired eventually and let myself die?

Should I give up?

Yes, perhaps I should, but I missed that chance. I decided to fight back then. Whatever went through my mind at that moment, it was strong enough for me to move again, to swim upstream, to get out and live to tell the tale. Yes, I survived.

I’m a survivor.

No matter what I go through tomorrow, in the following weeks, in a couple of months, next year, in a decade from now, I’m a survivor. Nothing will ever change that. Now I just need to start acting like one.

Team Garfield, like, seriously.