Do I stay?

It’s been a while since I came back.

Last time I wrote, I realized I didn’t need much more.

I had already found a small kind of peace.

Multiple times.

But it wasn’t joyful.

It was quiet.

Expected.

A place to sit with no thoughts.

Just being…

nothing.

Then that day happened.

Nothing compares to it.

It was full-body joy.

The kind I can only say I’ve felt once.

Something I’ll remember past the year.

Not like those temporary retreats—

where you hide in silence,

cut off from everything.

This was different.

It stayed.

Now I’ve been thinking again.

About my plan.

Retire by 35.

Live freely.

Or…

find something faster.

A different path.

Reincarnation.

I mean… everyone’s heard of it.

In this life,

my joy still feels negotiable.

Like I’ll eventually lose sight of it.

Like I’ll become another tool again.

Another gear.

Moving.

Existing.

Used.

I’m already seen that way.

A burden.

A number.

A mistake.

But that’s not even the real issue.

The problem is internal.

What happens when I lose access to that joy?

What do I value then?

It feels like something worse than death.

Because joy—

isn’t just an emotion.

It’s bigger than that.

I see it now.

In sounds.

In eyes.

In moments.

But it feels temporary.

And I don’t know how long it lasts.

If someone forgets the apple behind the curtain…

who’s going to look for it again?

My mind is finite.

But my joy…

doesn’t feel like it should be.

And that’s where I’m stuck.

A stalemate.

Where is my next thought?

I keep going back to that moment.

That real joy.

The one I found away from everyone who ever made me feel lesser.

I was still around people.

But nothing reached me.

No scrutiny.

No pressure.

No weight.

I could just exist.

And that was enough.

Not food.

Not fake hugs.

Not forced concern.

Not mechanical evenings.

Not selfish noise.

Just…

being.

And now I’m thinking—

what’s really out there for me?

Because from what I’ve seen,

it’s not much.

One real moment of joy…

in 21 years.

That’s the exchange?

It came late.

It could’ve come sooner.

If I wasn’t surrounded by systems.

Money.

Proof.

Value.

Obstacles.

So many moments were taken.

Blocked.

Delayed.

Why does it feel like I have to endure so much—

just to get one moment of peace?

Fifty hardships…

for one moment of solace.

The cost is starting to feel too high.

I’ve been patient.

I’ve endured.

But now…

I want to tip the scale.

In my favor.

And somehow,

I still need permission to do that.

Where is the joy in that?

Why wake up just to accept more tolerable pain?

Because it’s “normal”?

The next few years ahead of me…

don’t feel livable.

I’d be here.

But not really.

Just a routine.

No warmth.

No memory.

No meaning.

Just another tool.

Again.

Switching handlers.

A job.

A person.

A system.

It’s all the same.

And none of it feels worth it.

None of it is worth it.

A fate worse than death exists here too.

So I think about what comes after.

Reincarnation.

What would I even want to be?

Not human.

I never wanted a form.

I’d rather be light.

Water.

Air.

Something formless.

A mind with nothing holding it together.

Nothing to hold it back.

That sounds better.

More honest.

Maybe I’d find something greater there.

Freedom without structure.

Without expectation.

Without cost.

No gods.

No devils.

No systems.

Just existence.

I was never religious.

I tried.

But I couldn’t stay.

I couldn’t give into the greater lie for long.

Once the truth took hold, so did my loyalty to it.

Would I even have a name there?

I don’t think I’d need one.

Who would I need to identify me?

Everyone is temporary anyway.

That part never bothered me.

It’s easy to accept.

Like air.

Always there.

Never forced.

Then I thought about something else.

Music.

The human body is frequency.

So maybe—

I’d just be a wave.

A sound.

A tune.

Something that travels.

Something that exists without being held down.

That doesn’t sound bad.

A formless tune.

Something uniquely mine.

That moves through everything.

That might be enough.

Better than this uncertainty.

Better than this system.

And yet—

I still have this plan.

Retire by 35.

Escape properly.

But even that comes with a cost.

More hardship.

More cycles.

More chances to be used.

Labeled.

Disrespected.

It feels like I’d have a better chance finding joy outside of all of this…

than within it.

Because my joy—

was never going to be given to me.

It was always mine to find.

Alone.

Doing nothing…

is the same as letting it fade.

Day by day.

So now I’m left with a choice.

A system…

or myself.

And honestly—

I think I already know.

I’m a drifting echo.