I loved reading books since I was 5. 27 years passed. I'm now 32. Still loved reading books to a fault. The point is, I'm analogous to a beggar or a monk. I don't have any other aspirations aside from laying down in bed, pass time reading books, and reading more books or meddling with people's lives in social media, giving advices where I can't even apply them to myself. I seem to have lost care for the future and just wanted to live life as it is in the moment. I feel like doing nothing. I'm not lonely or sad. I feel at peace actually. I feel the need to travel and see the adventure and magic of life but I also feel happy my plans getting cancelled so that I could read my phone or just maybe, I was just lacking funds to travel and splurge. Whenever I earn something, it wouldn't stay in my wallet for hours before it gets spent for clearing off bills or buying food. I also feel the need to make an achievement but I felt confined by my fears, believing I haven't had enough qualifications and experience to get a proper job. I graduated in college with a good GPA but I have never tried to apply for any job again after I resigned from the first one I ever had in which I only worked for a year. From 22 to 32. Ten years of procrastination. But ten wonderful years. I was rained with satire, sarcasm, curses from everyone in my family for being useless but I was already contented with being like this. I was also thinking of how to feed myself if my parents decided to kick me out of the house. Or if they decide to marry me off to a man, whatever. What was life? Was it just being able to go studying, getting a job, earning, settling down, have a family? I feel at odds because I was silly enough not to follow the trend. People work so hard for what? I just skipped past all that and decided to be happy. Was I wrong? Was I selfish? Maybe. Maybe. But... I'm happy.