toxic culture

When the Passion is Gone?

Passion. Is it really a strong feeling? Is it really a strong desire or urge for something or someone? Is it endless? Or maybe it was just a normal feeling? And just like any other emotion, it has its limit?


See also: You Are Never Worthless

While I was writing this, I had my fair share of emotions popping inside my head. Thoughts about my relationship, my job, my writing, and also about myself. As my mind wanders, I feel like I’m lost. When I think about it, I feel like that passion is slowly fading. I don’t know why. Maybe, there’s a problem with myself? Or perhaps, I am actually the problem? I don’t know.


I always believed in happy endings. I always believed that somehow, love conquers all. I am a romantic guy by heart, though it isn’t obvious (Ikr?) It was the idea that I always had in mind. It was ideal, that I always try to hold on to. But well, I came from a broken family and yes, I guess everyone knew it. So, coming from that situation, I always admire a complete family. It was my desire to have that kind of family on my own. When I think about it, it’s not just a desire or passion but a MUST HAVE (regardless, any sacrifice that I have to endure). But I guess, that is just a fantasy. I know both must work on it. (I’m trying!) But I admit that there are times when I feel like I just want to give up. There are times when I feel like I want to just run away from all my responsibilities. There are times that I questioned myself if is it still worth it? I would be selfish with these thoughts but who isn’t? I know once or many times in your life that you came to this point. I love her, no doubt about it but is it still the same? Or does she still feel the same way to me? (who knows).

See also: The Love of A Father


I always had these ambitions that I try to keep for myself. Yes, all our decisions will affect our future. Well, I guess, I failed in here, miserably. But I believed that all things work together for good. So all the circumstances that happened in our life had their meaning and purpose that will surely unfold if not now, later in the future. Everyone dreamt of becoming someone. Everyone wants an entitlement. Everyone wants to achieve something and Yes, I am no different from them. I came to a point in my life that I stopped dreaming about my future. Literally. I lost the ability to dream; that passion for building a successful future; that passion of going beyond the places that I’ve never been to. But I can say that I am trying to pursue it now, one by one. Those little steps aren’t bad, right? Because I don’t want to have any regrets later in my life.

See also: Passion vs Practical vs Normal (The Long Term)


I always wanted to write. Yes, I am hoping to publish the book I wrote aside from being part of the anthologies and contributions. But sometimes, I asked myself if it was really my passion to write or just a hobby? Before I could sustain sleepless nights just to finish a chapter but as time goes by, it is taking its toll on me. Maybe because of my work? Maybe because of laziness? I don’t know. There are times that I want to write but I feel like I have no inspiration. There are times that I thought about my next story but I don’t have the urge to write it down. But there are also times that I feel like quitting.

See also: Writer’s Block and Blank Page Syndrome

I believed that in everything we do, there should always be a passion to do it. It’s what motivates us. But, I also know that some of you are also at this point in your life. It’s hard for some (just like me). But try to hold on to it.. even when the passion is gone.

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Haunted Misery of Dreyfus

At the age of seven, my eyes were opened to the filth of gratification. It was so obscene that it robbed my naivety. I tried to redeemed myself but to no avail. I got hooked and bonded by the disgraceful deed of my unbecoming.  

At the age of ten, the last gleam of purity was drowned in the abyss. I was enslaved to the carcass of my wretchedness. Romanticizing lust and gusto of my youth. Lewd acts of childishness seeping through my veins. Tingling sensation of unwarranted libido.  

See also: Twenty-Eighteen

At the age of fourteen, I have seen so much that I was accustomed to the vulgarity of the trend. The sensation of arousal. The delightful pleasure and the feast of nakedness. I found myself being caught up between the sacrament and perversion.  

At the age of nineteen, I was brought to a new dimension of satisfaction. The Utopia of adrenaline rush that opened a new orifice of excitement. Again did I try to free myself to the carnal fantasies of this world. But my leash was made of palladium of immorality, I was a mess!  

See also: Ode Of A Broken Son

At the age of twenty something, my lecherous heart was fondled by a great lover. It felt so great that for a while, the palpitating tiger was tamed. It was short, shorter than the motion of the ocean. My cravings became more toxic, that I might end up next to a patient with a silent crippling disease.  

At the moment, I reminisce those years of my unbecoming. I fought the battle, but it was just partial, not full. Every night since I was seven, I was haunted by a nightmare. It was grim, it was inducing.  

At the moment, I thought of who I was and what was I made for? I am Dreyfus, your typical neighbor who suffered from a silent misery. I am like you in so many ways. One foot is living in the vanities of life, while the other foot is living in the arcane kingdom in my sanity.  

At the moment, I have settled in my redemptive conscience. But once in a while I am still haunted by the erotic nightmares of my misery. I want to be free!

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