The countdown has almost reached its conclusion: the bags are packed, the letters sealed; the hugs have been given, the farewells said; pictures have been taken, the last tears shed. There is an inexplicable concoction of emotions running through my veins - a fusion of imminent sadness at leaving this place I call home, along with a throbbing excitement as I anticipate the unpredictable future. Even though that's what I hate the most - unpredictability. I like straight lines, clear-cut rules, exact numbers, controlled thoughts, perfect scores. I leave no room for allowances. But what now? Carrying forward this punctilious nature with me, I risk facing my new life with uncompromising inflexibility, which is precisely what I've been trying to break away from. Yet do I know any other way? This exercise in circularity is what keeps me going. This rigid and rigorous method of self-government. Where there is no space for reward. Where everything is calculated and planned. I'm not a bloody calculator. So why can't I stop calculating? The basic fundamental beauty of being human is the ability to change and evolve and grow. Plasticity. But this child remains static in her failure. Well, I suppose I always did want to be a machine. Unstoppable; indefatigable. But sometimes, sometimes I can hear something calling out to me. I think it's my body. I think it's trying to be heard. But I have no time to stop and listen. And so I snuff out the voices, silence the calls, muffle the whispers. Until there is nothing left except complete nothingness. And this is where I float. There is no rest, save in the reliability of my fixedness. But the fixedness itself causes unrest because I cannot break free. I cannot explain this paradox to you. One must live it and breathe it to understand it.
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