Puppet complex

Apart from my cocky attitude and my deeply rooted opposition towards religion, one thing is meant to stick with me for the entirety of my days: existencialism. I truly ignore if this happens only to me or if it is rather a disease of humanity, but at least once a year I stop all of the sudden and wonder: Wait! just what the hell are you doing and why???? The why is the most important part. Life seems ok until you feel the strings in your limbs, all pulling, one at the time and then all at once. You swiftly recognize how tangled you are and try desperatedly to free yourself. When did you allow everyone to tell you what do to, where to go? How come you stood this all this time?

This year has been tough in the sense that I rarely feel free to do what pleases me. I love my job, but as enjoyable as tasks might be, it is still eight hours a day of following guidelines.One string is pulling my left hand. I couldn't be more excited about the subjects I'm taking at University, but it translates into 6 hours of class a week and the universe knows how many extra hours of reading and writing afterwards. There's another string pulling my right wrist. It's nice to be surrounded by friends, but it becomes exhausting explaining to every single person who wants to hang out that you need a couple of nights just for yourself. My left knee feels fasten on the side. Insert all the family celebrations in the picture and how important is for you to attend not to come across as a bad son\brother\uncle\whatever other category I fit into. My right ankle is totally trapped. That's a lot to take for someone who wants, just for two days, that the world stops moving so fast and that what determines what to do in the next minute is always an imposition rather than a wish. 

Seriously, am I the only one who screams inside for a minute of instrospection, an hour of solitude, a day of introspection, a week of calmness? When one is blinded by what needs to be done, the true self can very easily suffer asphixia and die slowly. Above all, I'm afraid of yielding again without questioning. I don't want to tame the inner horse that, even after laboring in the fields, waits for the night to run freely and stomp on the saddle until is dust.