Confession of Confusion


Papers scrambled through the floor, the cold wind breezes through the laid-open window and I am sitting in the middle behind my desk, hands on my head, almost about to pull out all of my hair.

I have spent the last four years of my life moving from place to place. Fancily said: traveling, studying, and working in four different countries, homes and lifestyles.

And yet, I have not figured out pretty much anything and I would like to keep it that way. It could be because of the culture I was raised in.

I grew up in Mongolia and I learned from the culture that thinking I have figured out everything tends to block me from learning and growing.

So, I pay a visit to a bookstore or to Medium frequently. Then I see millions and billions of books and articles about how I should be happy had been published.

  • How to succeed but why success does not bring happiness
  • How to be happy but happiness is actually not beneficial
  • How to live and how to breath
  • What is not important and what is important

Being 20 years old today means you have many choices yet no choice like a kid who is in a candy store.

I am sure you had a moment where you had to sit in the street, or in of those outdoor benches and felt as if you have been stripped down.

You cannot remember anything, what you want to do, what you have been doing, what you should think about, what you should feel.

You just sit there, look above, look straight and look down then fidget because the world is too loud and you cannot hear your own thoughts anymore.

I have heard my friend say “Self-help books are a hammer. I am not going to read them because why bother to fit into a society that is wrong in itself, it is like the instruction of how to live someone else’s life”. What she said made sense.

But there are “The Times”, that you feel like you are running around a circle, stuck in a circle and end up reading what others have to say about it.
What everyone has to say about my problems makes it even more confusing.

It is as if the world wants me to be a forgiving angel and an ambitious devil at the same time.

I know. The choice is mine. The choice of not hearing, not caring, filtering and blocking out all the noise is mine, but for a person who writes I have to keep an eye on what others have to say.

The world seems to be getting louder and louder yet the right voices are not being heard, and being buried by the noise of others that are too loud.

Probably in a world where everyone is screaming, the solution is to keep quiet and hear the sound of the silence.

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