going around in circles.

I found this empty scrapbook near my mom's vanity table called "My Life In A Nutshell", one of those scrapbooks where there are little spaces for you to fill up stuff like, "As a kid, I enjoyed playing..." or things like, "My first paycheck amounted to..." As I was flipping through its pages, I realized one thing.

I don't know who I am.

I don't know myself because for some reason, I seem to forget about everything, about my past, events that have supposedly shaped me into who I am today. There's a space there for the fortunate owner of the scrapbook to write, "There have been times when strangers have touched my life. The one that stands out in my memory was..." I stared at it blankly, trying to rack my brain for that one moment when I felt blessed in a stranger's presence. I couldn't think of anything, although something inside me seems sure that I have been graced by such wonderful strangers before.

"The person whom I consider as the greatest hero is..." made me question myself even more. Why couldn't I find one person I could put on a pedestal? Do I not give any importance to all the people in my life? Do I live too much in the moment, never realizing its fleeting temporality? (Is there such a word? Heck, whatever.) What's a blog (or my journal that's rotting away under the schoolwork) worth if even by rereading it, I do not seem to be able to recall those turning points in life? Why the hell am I even here, on this Earth, doing what I am doing now? It disturbs me that I cannot even say what my best travel adventure is, given I always write traveling as one of my interests.

You know how people always say, "The best advice I ever got came from my mom," and they go on and on about this quote that helped shape their decisions in life. I can't even think of one line, although I'm sure a lot of people around me have given their own two cents' worth. Does that mean I don't pay them heed? What is my life worth if I cannot even relate the journey to anyone who would bother to listen? Does this mean I've lived 19 years and still, not really lived at all? Because what is a life without vivid memories? If I can't testify to it, does it even exist?

I am not feeding you some philosophical psychobabble. I am honestly confused. Maybe it's the weather that's gotten me all weird. As I sat by the computer reading on Bond Valuation, I just couldn't help but feel lost. The scrapbook made me feel even more Lost than the survivors on that mysterious island. I've heard about mid-life crisis, but 2-decade-life crisis? My goodness. This must be what that spirituality question during the guidance interview was all about.

I try to live life in all goodness. As much as possible, I try not to hurt anyone's feelings, even if that means being a doormat. I just don't like confrontations and hurt feelings, especially not something I've imposed on others. But I'm sure I've hurt my fair share of people along the way, maybe some unwittingly. That sucks even more... not knowing how you've already wrenched someone's guts. But I'm straying off course somewhat. What am I saying? I don't really know, I'm making no sense, and yet I think I have just written my longest blog entry yet. I guess I'm just living in a state of paranoia, in a state of uncertainty, questioning how I have spent my life so far. The bottom line? I do not feel that I have done anything special in my life. I have not done anything that could justify my existence. I have not done anything that merits the kind of life I'm living. I do not feel I deserve to be as blessed as I am. And maybe, that's the only thing that's driving me too. I have to try to make up for all the things that have been given to me in abundance. I have to prove that I'm not a mere parasite in this world, draining resources, breathing in air that could fill someone's else's lungs.

The question is how.