Shrouded with Uncertainty

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Time had been going by slowly, maybe slower than it had ever gone. Given her odd anticipation for finding out how things were going to unfold for her, that was not so pleasant. She’d been brooding over her future for days now, and while that obviously wasn’t enough time for things to properly shape up, she could not wait any longer. She couldn’t possibly assess her ability of going on alone in such a short period of time. She was notoriously impatient, a trait that didn’t exactly do her much help most of the time. Like most things, she knew it would take time, but she refused to admit it. Even so, she knew she could not keep herself composed enough for things to happen on their own.

While she did want to test out her theory, she often questioned her choice. Did she really want to isolate herself to find out if that would improve her performance? Was she ready for that? Her loneliness was already killing her; she could only imagine what it would be like to force herself further into this lonesome bubble.

During that time she had also had another task to fulfill and that was preparing herself for a new, unfamiliar way of life. Graduating high school, she wanted to step into college as someone else, someone better; more mature, more patient, and more capable of relying on herself. Her school friends were going to be busy adjusting to their new lives, too, and they’d have less time to help her deal with her problems — not that she frequently turned to them for such help. She’d preferred keeping her problems to herself, but sometimes she needed to hear advice come from someone else’s mouth.

She did however, spill herself out to him. He wasn’t a school friend, but that wasn’t the only thing that set him apart. He knew exactly what to say and how to say it; it was as if he had been there the whole time lurking in the parts of her mind she never wanted exposed. Those were the parts she often denied were there, and he took those out and lay them flat ahead on the table for her to stare at and acknowledge.

He too was a paradox; he was capable of giving out explicit description as to what was wrong and why, but he answered her questions vaguely. She liked mystery but hated having to deal with it herself. In that sense he presented a challenge for her, tossing around clues for her to assemble in order to uncover his intentions. It drove her insane, but the outcomes were worth it.

Following out her plan, however, would mean having to walk away from the challenge; it meant no more self analyses and declared advice. She’d have to do that on her own, but she knew she couldn’t. She never had it in her to be that person despite wanting to so badly. She’d always wanted to experience the satisfaction of knowing she’d helped pull someone out of distress and frustration. Then again, maybe this was her chance; she could go on with her plan, isolate herself and put herself to test, try to extract the compassion she had buried deep inside and use it to aid others. It sounded a bit selfish to her; she wasn’t quite sure if she could handle doing such a thing. The idea seemed to fall on both perspectives; on one hand it was a noble task aiming to help those around her, on the other it was a mere attempt to satisfy her ego by gaining satisfaction from helping others. Which one was it really? Was it kind of both? That she had no answer for, but she wasn’t willing to take the risk.

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