Isolation: a concept that slowly threaded itself into my daily routine. Safety was its purpose. Sanity was its sacrifice. Especially during the pandemic. Upon its arrival, the thought of not having to awkwardly interact with people seemed like a blessing wrapped in abundant relief. How could I protest? I always dreaded walking through the severed claws of my high school's doors. I despised the aching of my slouching back as I sat in a plastic chair, listening to the teacher's gibberish that I had no passion in pursing. Isolation seemed like a paradise, and for a moment it was almost heavenly. But time changed, and I remained the same. The pleasure of not hearing the burdening shrieks of my alarm was immense. The stress-free mindset that was fastened upon my skull rewired my toxic sleeping patterns. Everything was so simple. Everything was so easy. It became a habit of mine...a habit I grew bored with. The hours of relaxation contorted into days of laziness and procrastination. I felt as though I was just existing in the blank void of my lounge room. When the quarantining of 2020 was imprinted, that was my excuse. I didn't feel like talking to anyone? Isolation was my excuse. I didn't have a job? Isolation was my excuse. Even after high school had ended and I was on the verge of entering the excitement of University life, isolation had plagued my serenity. I was so used to the lack of interaction and the decease of productivity that I felt my life was now meaningless. "What am I supposed to do with my time now? These video games are getting a bit boring. Walking around in circles for ten hours everyday is growing tedious." The rotten cherry on top of this irksome cake of loneliness was the passing of my brother. And this is where my sanity decided to take a detour. My soul had splintered like a broken branch. My loneliness upgraded its unholy form into a satanic beast of grief and emptiness. "Now what do I do? Is there a point to this still?" I felt as though I had lost everything that was cradled in the palm of my hand. And to further decorate this traumatic cake, I had also lost the intimate connection to the one I tried to despise but grew to admire. I pushed him away. I pushed everyone away. Because of isolation, right? Because of their safety, right? Or was it my safety? Several months have passed and I still struggle with the finding of my purpose and productive energy. I still feel compelled to push my loved ones away. I still feel drawn to my heated rage and harm that I inflict upon my internal fragments. Everyday feels tiresome and aggressive with the understanding of not understanding. But this is a learning tool for me. The world is subjective. The world is neither good nor bad. The world is neither polluted nor healthy. The world is neither surviving nor thriving. The world is just the world. Pain is but a fleeting ship that may take its time to pass. But it does pass eventually. And if it doesn't, I'm sure it will sink with the other traumas I have confronted before. The moral of this dreary experience is that this is life. It is your life. It is your world. You are the main character. These setbacks, these shortcomings, just make the plot more exciting. True purpose does not lie in the success of a business, a degree, or even anything remotely tangible. Purpose lies within you. It is up to you to determine your purpose. It is up to you to change. And I am still learning this...