“Hello,  future.” 

The words echo into oblivion. The silence was  loud and deafening, but I know someone, or something out there, is listening to me. 

“It was rather impolite of me, isn’t it? if i don’t offer you a greeting.” 

Again, no response. Fair enough. 

“I’m aware of my. . . lack of manners in the past, for insistently asking ‘when will the future be here?’ because, well, that’s the thing─ you never miss your timing, not even once.” 

I may be deranged, as I attempt to ‘banter’ with this construct that is the ‘future’. Yet here I am, buttering up to the ‘future’ when I’ve been haunted by the past, and now masking that pain and exhaustion by ‘living’ precariously through the present. 

“There is not a single ounce of hope left in my future. I used to look forward to your arrival, when I thought things would get better from there. I used to pine for you when i’m anguished at the cruelty of my present, which forced me to face it head-on even when I said to them, ‘I can’t, I’m tired’.” 

I swore time used to move awfully slow, but now it forbids us from catching our breaths. The world is failing me, or us, dear readers, due to the amount of devastating news being vomited left and right. 

“I feel like I’m on autopilot most of the time. I don’t have the autonomy to even stand defiantly at whatever’s pulling me to you, even when I’m not ready (nor if I ever will) to face the unknown that is you.” 

I swallowed the biggest lump forming in my throat, while I struggled hard to fight back the tears that’ll blind me if I don’t contain it. 

I’m sorry future, for my nonsensical rant over here. I know you couldn’t care less about my existential issues. After all, you’re here because you are part of the equation. You’re just doing your job here. 

“Future, I’m beyond burned out. I’m constantly analyzing all the possible scenarios I could take that might change the trajectory of my life. I want to stop, but I can’t. you say ‘be prepared’, which i am! But please, I’m tired. Please fill my head with nothing so I can float in the abyss in silence for a few seconds. I need it, I promise I’ll get on with my life after this ad break.” 

I blinked a few times, I could sense my eyes and throat getting dry by the minute. That, and I’m feeling those cold sweat slowly dripping down from my forehead. I’m getting nauseous and light-headed here by my own thoughts and words. 

“So, future. wake me up when you’re here. I’m just. . . going to take a nap.”

Written by Elly Zulaikha