So I'm being told, "there's no reason to be jealous." I wonder why. There is, contrary to what's said, many reasons to be jealous. And I'm not thinking of how glamorous the life they're living is. In fact, I couldn't give a toss about whether it's glamorous or not, although that would be an interesting bonus. Also, it never factored in.

"It's not fun," they tell me. "It's lots of hard work. You don't get time for yourself."

"Actually," I say, "we're all not supposed to have time for ourselves, sooner or later."

The argument wasn't won yet. And they, the people who are there, will not go down without a fight. Inevitably, since they're there, and being there leads, somehow, to an air of supremacy.

"But it's not as fun as it looks."

Same argument, insisted twice as hard.

"I know that. Doesn't mean I don't want it."

"Why are you asking me about this anyway?" they'd go. (The writing style should be clear by now.) A confused expression forms in their faces. "I'm telling you, there's nothing to be jealous about. Now, change topic, please?"

It doesn't quell me. I'm still jealous. I still badly want it, or something like it. That is the keyword. Something like it. You know what you want to get yourself into, or at least have an idea, which is why you want it. Or something like it. And you know you have what it takes to do so, or at least you think you do, which is why you want it. Or something like it. But you get the idea that they won't let you. Why, because it's not as fun as it looks?

And you try to understand why they see it that way. It consumes you in every way, mostly wrong, because you start dealing with egos and routines and, sooner or later, you've stomped on all that green grass a lot, it stops growing and becomes a patch of barren land. And the grass on the other side, it looks so alluring. So you tell the rest, "no, stay, it's much better." But you're in exactly the same situation, only worse, because yu have these people telling you all these recycled reasons, all these recycled excuses, only to see them, hours later, exchanging funny retweets peppered with hilarious laughter. Not fun?

And then you start thinking, "maybe they don't want me there at all. Because I know I'm good enough to be there. And I'm a threat to them! I'm better than them! That's why they don't want me around. That's why they make all these silly, condescending excuses."

And then you see them laughing again. Not that fun. Scoff. You look at your barren patch of land and go, "I'll get out of here someday." And then you realize they're right: you don't have what it takes to be there, because you can't stand up to egos in the best possible way: by having an ego yourself. Which is why they're, somehow, being an ass to you.

The hardest part is, you remain jealous of them. Somehow, that's how things go, and that's how they want it to be.

And your responses...

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