25

One of those virtual greeting cards with a page long insert which gets you up to speed on the sender's life.

Lately I've been much confused, worried, even scared at the prospect - or lack thereof - I may be faced with. Most of you know what I'm talking about, since not a phone call or an email goes by in which I don't voice these concerns of mine. Some of you say I should travel, see things my way, shake myself up a little. Some others point out how it's not all that bad and compared to most of my contemporaries, I'm in fact doing very well. There are the ones who see no problem at all and still more who have nothing but empathy towards my failed attempts at trying to relocate myself physically and psychologically. But I fear to admit that the problem, my troubles, may prove to be buried deeper than I cared initially to show. The dark may even become darker, the fog denser, my Sun may be blotted out leaving only a golden trail.

25. I never imagined anything for when I'd become 25. I don't really want to imagine anything for when I turn 35. Those ten years will whizz by sooner than I will care to admit. I remember my 15th birthday very clearly. It was in Prague, I got a green top with little flowers on it, dungarees shorts and a back pack. My mom's aunt was visiting and I had very few problems. Ten years have passed and I still have very few problems, but only because I've learnt how to deal with most of the things life threw at me. So the few problems I do have, they seem to hit the core of my existence. But there is a mature weight to this age. There is wisdom in traces, there is solid and honest sincerity and there is doubt to unravel the slowly meandering certainty. I don't know if I'm heading in the right direction, I don't know if my private life is running its predestined course or if my professional life holds any surprises. In fact, there is very little I know. I have started to settle for content when I should scratch and burn until I find happy. I have become lazy and complacent. I have entered a state of mind where moments present the only alternative to a numb void.

What is most worrying is that I have lost inspiration and a desire to create. When all else failed, I always had the words. Now the words seem to not care at all, not care enough. I leave them dormant at the depth of my soul's despair and with that, hope never surfaces either. They dine down there, together, silent. I toil up here, I sweat with fear of actions never taken or taken in vain. But the words stay unconcerned and even the music doesn't move them any more. They have slowly given up on me because I never let them shine. I have never given them the chance to bask in glory. I have never fought for them or fanned their vanity with careless hope. So they have turned from me, these conspiring little wiggles, lines, straight and bent. Now I'm on my own and on my own is where my road divides. And look at me, instead of choosing, I stand still.

I feel powerless, unable to hold a firm grip, unmoved, uninspired, weak, irresolute. I feel like I have no patience or determination to see anything through. I care so little that my days follow one another and nothing ever makes me fight or believe. I skim the surface. The books I read leave ideas unformed. The scenery that is all around me brings only momentary satisfaction. But the power to change lies in my hands and I fail to make progress. Continuous rejection has left me with little desire to run at full speed. I see my tired little life lean towards the comfortable and unchallening future. But my tearless crying shows me that this should not be where I end. Right now, things are bleak. I have no idea which direction to start walking in. I am scared of the unknown and scared to leave the known. I find myself in a trap and nobody has walked past who knew how to get out of the hole. And I have no elaborate plans.

So 25. Please don't ask me to list my successes. Tomorrow morning, on my birthday, I will wake up, it'll be a magnificent spring day, full of the Sun's hopeful rays spreading over the lands. I know that I will wake with confidence, with hope. I will walk amongst the buildings of the greatest historical importance. I will fall in love with this city all over again, as I did last spring. I will see the Danube wash its banks slowly and seamlessly away. The bridge will hold no secrets and the seagulls will circle around the part of the river where the ships have not moved. For a moment, for maybe even the better part of the day, all the doubts, the uncertainty, it will all be forgot.

Now everything around me is perfect, I see it as perfect, only I have not found my perfect, my endless, my humble way.