Why Do I Have This Feeling
Content
Why do I have this feeling? Why do I feel this rage? And why do I still, even with the build-up and the need, exert an amazing self-control? I want to blow up. I truly do. I want to just generate a supernova, and get a massive corona to burst out. And for the first time, I am uninterested if someone gets on its way. I feel I need to express my rage, frustration, and depression in a way that is clear for others and for me. And yet, I am controlling all of it. I feel like a machine, a calculator, a robot. I do not want to surpass my own limits of reason. I feel tempted, to unleash hell as the mere thought poses and pass through my head. And yet, I feel compelled, by the unknown remaining of logic, to be still, be quiet, and be thoughtful. In a way I am a slave of my own head. It is hard, and dreading, to deal with frustration. I feel impotent to just observe how my head, and my mind, succumbs to it so quickly. I thought I was stronger. I thought I could handle my own frustration and disguise it as moral capital for a crazy idea that eventually leads to something productive and of good for many. I thought I could just forget, and prevent, and rebuilt from the ashes of my backfire. And yet, I am wrong. I cannot forget, and I feel compelled to be destructive. I feel the need to look for justice. I feel the urge to even the equation that is so dreadfully unbalanced. However, there is something in me, something stronger, elusive, and silent that makes me feel a mantle of discipline. I feel the influence of my own alter ego. I feel how I must not fall into my basic instincts. I feel how my anger is transformed in just thoughts, encapsulated in my already filled head. I feel frustrated. I feel the pain of the betrayal, the shame of the fact I was outsmarted by some one that relays on flourish, convenient talk, than actual savvy. I am feeling frustrated when I apply to a prestigious scholarship, and see a friend who also applied, to get it and I am still waiting. I know by now Gates is not for me; I am not getting it. I know the process. That I am happy for my friend, of course; why wouldn’t I? But I feel the shame of being beat in that front. I feel my whole world falls apart. And that’s the irony; for I have always believed that my best skill is to always plan beforehand. I never relay in emotions. I hate emotions. Those thoughts conversions from feelings and abstracts always have being lethal to me. I grew up with the idea I was not good enough. First, I realized I was fat, and unattractive. I realized people laughed at me for being weird. I realized I was weird and did not understand why. I was incapable of being normal. I realized that for me it was, and still is, to be entirely happy. I grew up with a complex of inferiority. I never felt proud of whom I was. I realized that I was ugly, and hence, confined to be alone. Hence, to this day, I suck with women. I really do. I am unable to be natural and causal with them. When I fall in love, it is worthless. I always end up suffering. I always get rejected. I always cry. I always realize that no matter what I do, I am still a failure. I realize I am destined to life alone. And that is something that after years I have learned to deal with—and accepted it as part of my life. It is the definition of who I am. The progression of feel fat, and hence being unattractive and hence have no chance to explore what is it to be like to be with someone in a relationship set my idea that I was to be alone and pursue something where I could be valuable. From my beginnings as a child my parents fostered in me a taste for science. They wanted me to become good at it. As an only child, I knew I had only but myself and my parents. And that is ironic thing: both my parents wanted me, and still do, to be fit and athletic, and a definition of
attractive. The sad thing is that I can’t be attractive. I don’t think anyone will find me handsome. I don’t believe anyone will have feelings for me beyond “he’s weird…he’s asocial”. For so long I have being laughed at this that it stopped bothering me. It stopped being a part of me. I realized I had to deal with the fact people see me as a weird person. My parents never cared about this because they were happy that I seemed bright. What a funny thing to say; I am not bright. I am not intelligent. I say a lot of incoherence statements. I am just a guy that somehow gets stuff. I somehow understand. I somehow have good intuition. I somehow can put some pieces together. I lack the very essence of what brightness implies: genius. My parents, specially my father, tried to put that idea forth: that I was the smartest and that I should do something good. When I was little, I eat that idea like I would eat a banana. I believed for so long I was a genius. However, that idea is a lie. I am not a genius; I am not even smart. I doubt I am even average. I feel I am not good enough. I feel unqualified. And yet, I still, deep down, want to pursue those ideas of being a scientist; of fulfilling a sort of “mean-to-be” thing. I am stubborn, and decided to not give up on such idea. That decision has being painful. I struggle in math. I cannot go to classic math without feeling dizzy. My physics just sucks; I couldn’t learn it well, as I did not learn math well. I cannot handle memorization of biology information, and I cannot do labs well. So, I feel lost. I feel I am going to science because of desire to live to an expectation I came to accept; an expectation that I believed me—even now that I know I suck at it. So yeah, I grew up with this idea of prodigy which is only represents words of kindness and hope from my parents. I grew up dealing with the truth that no matter what anyone says, I am ugly—unattractive and will never have a girlfriend. That I needed a study to delve in or otherwise my life will have no purpose. I realized science, literature, and grown-up topics where the places I could find safe-haven—a refugee from the failure that my life represented. However, years later, I realized that if I wanted to become a scientist, I will have to work my butt off because I lack the talent. And yes, I will work my butt off—but it sadness me I will have to force my way into science. That sadness me deeply. My purpose in my most of my life is to find refuge. At first, refuge from my family hardships by reading; then at elementary school in the playground, sitting on a hammock on breaks, and reading on the library. On high school, I extended that to talking to teachers, and in Costa Rica, take long walks across campus. Here in America, I discover that talking was more effective, but finding a quiet room at lunch is far more effective. As it seems, my whole purpose was to isolate myself from others. It is the only way I could find peace, quietness, and simplicity of thought. And this paramount specially know that I am truly angry. That idea of ugliness is truly strong in my mindset. I avoided arts, and writing, because I knew I was not aesthetically pleasing. Hence, I knew my work will not be nice, or of appeal to others. I realized that I was not, and still is not, accepted in the society overall. Again, I am aware people find me weird; I am aware people laugh at me all the time and that I have to live with it. Hence, I always try to pursue math and science; that’s a field where you do not have to nice, handsome, or create aesthetics to be successful. And yet again, I was mistaken. The beauty in science is in intellectual prowess—the gift to be bright and see the solution of many problems without work. So I struggle programming because I have to insist on using brute force. I am barely learning java and have problems writing good code. I over think and my code look sloppy. This attempt of teaching me java is not the best. So yeah, there you have it: even in a place where supposedly my environment has told me I suppose to succeed, I still fail at. Hence, I sense I am
worthless in most pursues. For instance: do I have a patent? No, I do not. I just did experiments and because it was a PhD project, it got in the package. Do I have the talent for research? I barely lasted a summer, and the prof was adamant in not allowing me to get a lab internship again. And every time I try to find an internship, I get a no in my face. So yeah, I see there is not big future for me in anything that I thought it was for me. I want to be a scientist so badly. That’s the place I thought I could find acceptation as a member of their own club of people. But in order to belong in this club, one has to be bright. I am clearly not bright. That I know string theory: only the bare details I can grasp, and the conjectures I can create. But that does not really stand for saying “I know it”; it is fishing and conveniently putting the pieces in a way that seems logical. And the craziest, and most unfortunate, is that my logic is mostly wrong. I like to think my logic is infallible, and yet it sucks and it is easily by passed by simple statements. Hence, I really don’t know what can make my life safe in terms of not getting frustrated. I have tried to develop ways to avoid frustration—and yet, here I am, frustrated. I have always felt need of planning everything I do. It is a need of being in control. I always tried to plan my life so I could ensure the best outcome for me. However, when it is to plan my dream, I always, as usual, fall short.
attractive. The sad thing is that I can’t be attractive. I don’t think anyone will find me handsome. I don’t believe anyone will have feelings for me beyond “he’s weird…he’s asocial”. For so long I have being laughed at this that it stopped bothering me. It stopped being a part of me. I realized I had to deal with the fact people see me as a weird person. My parents never cared about this because they were happy that I seemed bright. What a funny thing to say; I am not bright. I am not intelligent. I say a lot of incoherence statements. I am just a guy that somehow gets stuff. I somehow understand. I somehow have good intuition. I somehow can put some pieces together. I lack the very essence of what brightness implies: genius. My parents, specially my father, tried to put that idea forth: that I was the smartest and that I should do something good. When I was little, I eat that idea like I would eat a banana. I believed for so long I was a genius. However, that idea is a lie. I am not a genius; I am not even smart. I doubt I am even average. I feel I am not good enough. I feel unqualified. And yet, I still, deep down, want to pursue those ideas of being a scientist; of fulfilling a sort of “mean-to-be” thing. I am stubborn, and decided to not give up on such idea. That decision has being painful. I struggle in math. I cannot go to classic math without feeling dizzy. My physics just sucks; I couldn’t learn it well, as I did not learn math well. I cannot handle memorization of biology information, and I cannot do labs well. So, I feel lost. I feel I am going to science because of desire to live to an expectation I came to accept; an expectation that I believed me—even now that I know I suck at it. So yeah, I grew up with this idea of prodigy which is only represents words of kindness and hope from my parents. I grew up dealing with the truth that no matter what anyone says, I am ugly—unattractive and will never have a girlfriend. That I needed a study to delve in or otherwise my life will have no purpose. I realized science, literature, and grown-up topics where the places I could find safe-haven—a refugee from the failure that my life represented. However, years later, I realized that if I wanted to become a scientist, I will have to work my butt off because I lack the talent. And yes, I will work my butt off—but it sadness me I will have to force my way into science. That sadness me deeply. My purpose in my most of my life is to find refuge. At first, refuge from my family hardships by reading; then at elementary school in the playground, sitting on a hammock on breaks, and reading on the library. On high school, I extended that to talking to teachers, and in Costa Rica, take long walks across campus. Here in America, I discover that talking was more effective, but finding a quiet room at lunch is far more effective. As it seems, my whole purpose was to isolate myself from others. It is the only way I could find peace, quietness, and simplicity of thought. And this paramount specially know that I am truly angry. That idea of ugliness is truly strong in my mindset. I avoided arts, and writing, because I knew I was not aesthetically pleasing. Hence, I knew my work will not be nice, or of appeal to others. I realized that I was not, and still is not, accepted in the society overall. Again, I am aware people find me weird; I am aware people laugh at me all the time and that I have to live with it. Hence, I always try to pursue math and science; that’s a field where you do not have to nice, handsome, or create aesthetics to be successful. And yet again, I was mistaken. The beauty in science is in intellectual prowess—the gift to be bright and see the solution of many problems without work. So I struggle programming because I have to insist on using brute force. I am barely learning java and have problems writing good code. I over think and my code look sloppy. This attempt of teaching me java is not the best. So yeah, there you have it: even in a place where supposedly my environment has told me I suppose to succeed, I still fail at. Hence, I sense I am
worthless in most pursues. For instance: do I have a patent? No, I do not. I just did experiments and because it was a PhD project, it got in the package. Do I have the talent for research? I barely lasted a summer, and the prof was adamant in not allowing me to get a lab internship again. And every time I try to find an internship, I get a no in my face. So yeah, I see there is not big future for me in anything that I thought it was for me. I want to be a scientist so badly. That’s the place I thought I could find acceptation as a member of their own club of people. But in order to belong in this club, one has to be bright. I am clearly not bright. That I know string theory: only the bare details I can grasp, and the conjectures I can create. But that does not really stand for saying “I know it”; it is fishing and conveniently putting the pieces in a way that seems logical. And the craziest, and most unfortunate, is that my logic is mostly wrong. I like to think my logic is infallible, and yet it sucks and it is easily by passed by simple statements. Hence, I really don’t know what can make my life safe in terms of not getting frustrated. I have tried to develop ways to avoid frustration—and yet, here I am, frustrated. I have always felt need of planning everything I do. It is a need of being in control. I always tried to plan my life so I could ensure the best outcome for me. However, when it is to plan my dream, I always, as usual, fall short.
