I wonder

When did my life become a set of lists of other people's wants and ambitions?

I don't remember caring about looks or appearances all those years ago.
I don't remember not giving answers to questions based on what people expect me to reply.

I miss the old me, I think.
The me who'd pick books over clothes any day.
The me who'd sit at the piano, playing and singing, not caring what anyone think.
The me who'd scream and laugh while running around in the park.

Last night I had a weird dream. I dreamed that people were telling me I was not attractive enough and that I need to cut my fingers. I asked them 'wouldn't it be painful?' but they replied 'beauty IS pain'. They then brought me to this room with a table and a big butcher knife on it. I remember hiding behind someone and said ''I don't want to. I don't care if I'm ugly''. I remember feeling like crying but that I was holding my tears because I didn't want anyone to see that I was weak.

Then someone took the knife and said ''Here, it's not painful, I'll show you''. That person then went on and cut her fingers one by one. Slowly, but rythmic. Her eyes never left my face. She was smiling. After she finished, she held up her bloody fingerless hand and said ''See? Don't you want to be beautiful?''.

I looked up at her and I felt like, I wanted to cut my fingers off. So I took the knife and started chopping. One by one. Slowly. Rythmic. Just like she had done. It hurt, at first, but then, I got used to the pain when I reached my fifth finger. Then I held up my hand to show them and they said ''There, you're beautiful now.''

I don't know what does that mean, I always have weird dreams.

Nowadays,
I don't read much. I'd stare at books in bookstores and don't feel anything calling me like how they used to.
I don't play the piano. I'd try. I'd sit there and put my fingers on the keys, but then, I don't feel the spirit. And I'd just close it and walk away.

I miss the old me.

But I'm confused.

Is this growing up?
Or is this something else?