I don’t know what’s worse: being a second option or feeling like you don’t belong at all. It’s as if you’re just there in the middle — neither close to being first nor second — simply existing without a true purpose. It feels like floating somewhere in between. I can’t be angry about it because, in a way, I chose this path. I chose to be this way, but when those feelings overwhelm me, I question why I’m in this place. Wouldn’t it be better to take a different path?
I may not always be the first person people share good news with, and that’s okay. It’s not a big deal, but wouldn’t it be wonderful to be someone’s first thought when they have good news? To feel the joy they express and know that I belong somewhere in their life.
Unfortunately, life isn’t like a fairy tale. Perhaps, it’s more like a train station — a constant waiting room for me. I wander from platform to platform, holding a ticket that never seems to match any departing train, much like carrying a heart that never finds its rightful place. While others board with a sense of purpose and belonging, I remain on the platform, feeling lost.
As announcements echo through the hall, mentioning destinations that hold a promise of belonging and purpose, those names feel unfamiliar to me. Yet, I approach each train with a sense of hesitation and doubt. “Is this the right one? Will I finally feel like I belong somewhere?” But each time I step onto a train, it seems to lead me further from where I belong. It feels promising at first, but then the train stops at a station whose name I can’t even pronounce, leaving me alone once more. Is the route I want to take so difficult that no train can make it there? Or is being second choice — or not being chosen at all — even worse?
The benches in the station become familiar, worn from the weight of my uncertainty. Some days, people keep me company, but only briefly, like connection that never root. The noise and movement around the station fill the room, but all I hear is a high-pitched buzzing that feels so empty, a sound that comes from not knowing where I belong.
Every train feels like a risk. Every departure doesn’t guarantee a permanent place to stay. I long for a sense of certainty when I step inside the train, free from doubt and the feeling of being lost in a place with strange names. I want to look out the windows as the train carries me toward a place where I truly belong.
The ticket I keep in my pocket, checking from time to time, resembles the heart that yearns for a place — a place where uncertainty no longer engulfs me. It’s a silent promise that the waiting will end, that one day the train will come and take me to a place where there is no longer uncertainty. Until then, I’ll remain on the station bench, holding that promise close to my heart.
