Escapism

All her life, she’s been looking for the right term, the right word, that can perfectly describe what she is feeling every single day. She doesn’t know what it’s called until this date. It’s escapism.

As a matter of fact, she has no idea what it is. She’s no psychologist and she’s simply too lazy to do her own research. She reads five to ten articles that show up on the first page of Google and that’s it. She’s clueless about how to measure the “severity” of escapism in people so she can’t be sure whether she really has that in herself or not. All she knows is, every day, she’s always living in her own alternate bubble. She thinks about tomorrow when it’s still today. She fantasizes about what could happen and what could have been if she made different choices in the past. She’s constantly battling with the thoughts of running away from reality; continuously grinding and internal debating; where should I go next? What should I become? Which city should I live in after this? Can I move to another town? Is it possible to just fly to some country without a visa and never go back? She scrolls endlessly on job sites, room listings, university websites, or whatever pages on the internet that can give her a taste of living differently. That’s like a habit that she’s incapable to get rid of even after she did something new. Try to picture this scenario: you just resign from your old job and today is the first day of your new one; it’s a different role in a niche industry, and it’s located on the other side of the world. Even so, the first thing that comes into your mind the second you land your feet on the marble floor is: “Where should I move next?”.

During quarantine, the wanderlust got even worst. Her mind would just fly off somewhere — setting up a new existence on its own — before the owner of that mind actually makes up her mind. And when reality hits her like a fucking 16 wheeler truck, she got heartbroken for no reason. How could she fall for her own irresponsible daydream?

She always posts escapism thoughts on her blog, where she’d blabber about wanting to hop on a train without buying the returning ticket, living in her father’s secluded village to grow crops, or pulling off her skin in order to become somebody new… One day to another is spent looking at overpriced apartments in the heart of the city, where she pictures herself baking cinnamon rolls and pain au chocolat, or simply sitting next to the window to let the sun rays fall on her face, perfectly glimmered. Or, she could be staying in a wooden cottage deep in the forest, where she sits on an old couch with a knitted blanket around her legs and a book in her left hand.

Honestly, she’s not gonna cook those pastries even after she moves to a 20 story building with windows facing the east. Don’t even mention reading that book. She’s just gonna lurk on her Youtube homepage and she knows it. But, the thought of it, the idea of having the life she’s not living, helps to ease the dysphoria over her own mediocre, meaningless life. She is fully aware that those all are egoistic and self-indulgent shit, but she can’t help it. She can’t help to imagine how great it will be to doze off and wake up the next morning, only to find out that she had died in her last night's sleep and reincarnated as something else.

She just wanna escape.

es·​cap·​ism | \ i-ˈskā-ˌpi-zəm \ habitual diversion of the mind to purely imaginative activity or entertainment as an escape from reality or routine.

However, after countless nights and a myriad of thoughts that hijacks her mind after the moon sleeps, she finally comes to an interim conclusion; maybe, just maybe, life is never gonna be easy anywhere. And life is not getting easier, ever. No matter where she goes, no matter how far it is from her reality, she’ll never have the chance to let out a sigh and say “I made it” because there is no such state. There will always be a struggle and unreachable ambitions.

She realizes that maybe, life will never get better, and you just have to face it, exactly like how you encounter an old acquaintance on the street and heroically say hi instead of running away into a nearby shop to hide.

Maybe, life is not about reaching the destination — which is the dessert factory — but more like stopping by in numerous sidewalk bakeries and feel no guilt at all if later you decided that a sweet tooth is not your personality.

Maybe, life is exactly what The Shawshank Redemption taught us; it’s not about escaping, it’s about living.

Maybe, life is indeed a pain in the ass and you got jaded half through it, but that doesn’t mean you gotta stop.

Maybe… life is just life. And you just have to live.