It’s that time again—lying awake, letting my thoughts spiral. Sleep won’t come.

Earlier today, my friend mentioned Snow Crash, a cyberpunk novel she loves. Cyberpunk happens to be my favorite style too. Sometimes I wonder—if I were a robot, maybe I wouldn’t feel so… not unhappy exactly, but worn out. Exhausted.

There was a time when I used to think, if God exists, could He just take me away? Jesus loves me, right? Recently, while watching Frieren: Beyond Journey’s End, I found myself wishing for her kind of life—living for centuries, looking like a little cat, never growing old.

During the day I got my hands on the 13th edition of Bodie’s Investments textbook. I know studying it will help me; the level of challenge is fine. But it doesn’t make me feel excited. Reading a textbook isn’t even as motivating as studying for a driver’s license.

People often talk about stability—steady job, steady life. I never thought much about it. I always imagined I’d live restlessly, maybe not even long enough to get old. At nineteen, I thought twenty-four was already an impossibly big number.

I assumed I wouldn’t fall in love or get married, because that requires so much support. I always felt like I came from nowhere, heading nowhere, with nothing behind me. Why should I care about building a safe, conventional life?

The things I want to do—reading endless English novels, meeting new people online—others would call unnecessary. I sometimes imagine a voice telling me, if you poured all that energy into work, life would be better. But I know myself: I would overthink work, obsess over details, slip into perfectionism or even workaholism. That’s not healthy. I realized long ago how much it damages me.

In learning and working, I do come up with ideas, maybe even interesting ones. But if I end up in a place where only obedience is required, where thinking isn’t needed—I suffocate.

If God truly exists, I picture His home having a small bed just for me. A place to lie down and finally sleep in peace. And if someone came by when I was bored—just to hang out, even for a minute—I would feel grateful. It would give me an excuse to try something new, something I never thought I’d do.

PS: This is nothing more than long, weary rambling. Tomorrow when I open my eyes, I’ll read the news, scroll through posts, like pictures, read books, watch anime, listen to music (haven’t gamed in days), maybe ride my bike if it doesn’t rain. It’s all incredibly ordinary. I overload myself with tasks—there’s still an Economist issue waiting, plus a book on Gen Z slang. Tonight I told a friend: if I keep up this rhythm, plus dieting and consistent workouts, I’d probably collapse into depression.

I’ve bought a train ticket. I don’t know what awaits me—but at least it’s something.