I refuse to be a slave

The idea of slow living is picking up insanely.

I can’t even figure out how I started romanticizing it for myself, but I know I love it.

From back in the day, it was evident I loved the countryside. I adored rural setups.

I don’t hold anything against the city I promise.

The idea of growing things and eating them directly from the farm fascinated me. Well it still does; only that now, it is nudging on me a little too hard.

Waking up to nature sounds and enjoying slow mornings was a fantasy I kept dear.

Evenings graced with sounds of satisfied cattle and excited poultry made me grin from ear to ear.

At that time I thought I was probably a little stuck up and boring.

The other day I received a call that I wished I hadn’t, the person on the other end was a little rude about my being unemployed. Indirectly she called me stupid and a loser in so many words. I flinched. Then I cried. I didn’t sleep that night, I just couldn’t.

The next morning, I was still devastated. But again I sat with myself. Then I journaled. And I remembered who I truly am to the core.

I know the kind of life I want for myself. I am a little crazy to believe I will get it. It is inclined towards the unconventional side, for that I do not bother explaining it out.

In the meantime, I am okay with being misunderstood. I am okay with being called a daft and a loser in many words.

One thing is for sure though, I refuse to be a slave to anything that doesn’t entail my desires and dreams.

I want to live a life that makes sense to me.

Some people just exist, and I genuinely do not want to just exist.