"River, why didn't you pass another test again? How many times has it beennow?"
My mom's voice cut through the quiet of the living room, sharp and tired. She was standing there, arms crossed, eyes fixed on me, the same look she had every time I failed an exam. This time, it was the third. The third failure, and she couldn't hide her exasperation.
Yes. I am River.
And no — I'm not stupid. At least, I don't think I am.
It's just… nothing ever seems to stick. No matter how much I plan, no matter how determined I try to be, I can't focus. Motivation is like a fire that flares up for a second and then disappears, leaving me cold. I start things with good intentions, but everything ends up half-done, half-hearted.
I care about results. But at the same time… I don't. Maybe that's why my grades always land in the same mediocre zone. Average, or worse.
Every semester, I promise myself: This time will be different. And every semester, the promise dies after a few weeks, like a candle snuffed out before I can even see it burn fully.
I used to be a great kid. Elementary school me could do anything — excel at school, sports, even arts. Teachers praised me, classmates looked up to me, and I had a confidence that made the future seem endless.
But somewhere along the way… university changed everything.
It's not that I didn't try. Maybe I didn't try hard enough. Or maybe I just pretended I didn't care so I wouldn't feel disappointed when it didn't work out. Either way, I ended up here: stuck, lazy, and frustrated.
I used to laugh at people who struggled desperately, who tried so hard just to make friends or succeed. I thought being nonchalant, indifferent, made me superior.
Now I realize… those people are happier than I am.
Meanwhile, I'm still here, broke, obsessed with the smallest things, jealous of the smallest luxuries. The little things that should feel normal but feel impossible for me, like enough money to send a streamer a gift, buying something I want without hesitation, pretending to be rich in front of my little sister, paying the internet bill without praying that the money lasts until the end of the month.
Even those mundane things feel like luxuries. And I can't reach them.Because I'm a loser.
I'm turning twenty-two this month. And seeing my peers already settled, with stable jobs, apartments, even relationships, makes me feel the weight of every wasted year.
Today… today, I decided I would do something about it.
Just one small thing, but maybe small is enough.
I'm going to look for a job.Something nearby. Something simple. Something that gives me a paycheck, a little independence, a tiny taste of life outside my parents' home.
Progress, not perfection.I like that phrase. It's almost a mantra for me. I've never succeeded at anything on the first try, so I always gave up. If I had kept trying, maybe my life would look different now. Maybe I'd have money. Maybe I'd have confidence. Maybe I wouldn't still be living under my parents' roof, pretending like life hasn't passed me by.
So I'll try again. One more time. Or a hundred more if necessary.
"Mom! I'm going today!" I called from the living room, louder than usual.
I usually avoided raising my voice. Quiet made me look calm, detached, maybe even cool. But today… today I didn't care about looking cool. Today, I felt the strange weight of all my excuses lifting just a little.
I grabbed my keys and stepped outside. The sunlight hit my face in the way early morning always does — sharp, warm, and almost unforgiving. The air smelled faintly of wet asphalt and the lingering smoke from nearby cooking fires.
My motorcycle waited like an old friend. Its black frame was scratched in places, the paint chipped on the edges of the tank, but I didn't care. It had never let me down before, and today I needed it to carry me somewhere I had never gone before, toward responsibility, toward some vague notion of self-respect.
I swung my leg over the seat and felt the familiar thrum of the engine under me. Cold metal, warm rubber grips, the vibration that starts in the tires and travels all the way through your body. It was comforting, in a way — something steady and reliable in a life that otherwise felt unpredictable.
I started the engine, the sound low and steady, almost meditative. The mirrors reflected the narrow alley behind my apartment, where the early morning quiet was broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chirp of birds.
I shifted into first gear and rolled forward, feeling the motorcycle respond instantly, obediently. The world blurred a little at the edges, and I realized I was actually… calm. Not happy, not triumphant, just calm.
The shop I was headed for was small, a little novel store on the corner of a side street. They were hiring part-time workers, nothing fancy. The pay was modest, but it was real money. Money I could spend on myself, for once, without worrying about whether it would last. Money that would mean I was finally doing something.
As I rode, my mom's voice echoed in my head."Don't forget to smile. Be polite. And park your motorcycle properly."
I laughed quietly to myself. "Yeah, yeah," I muttered, gripping the handlebars a little tighter. I wasn't used to following advice like this, but today… today it felt necessary.
Passing through the familiar streets, I noticed things I hadn't really looked at in months: the baker's shop spilling the smell of fresh bread, the old man watering flowers outside his apartment, the kids chasing each other across the cracked pavement. Life was moving around me while I'd been stuck in my own head.
I realized, almost too late, that this was what I had been missing: participation. Action. The simple act of moving forward, no matter how small, could change something.
I parked the motorcycle in the small space reserved for customers, careful to line it up straight as my mom had said. The engine ticked and cooled, and I felt the tension in my shoulders release slightly.
This was it.My first real step. Tiny, inconsequential, almost laughable in the grand scheme of things. But for me, it mattered.
I took a deep breath, stepped toward the shop, and felt the strange, unfamiliar sensation of hope creep into my chest. Maybe it wouldn't change everything. Maybe I'd still fail in other areas. Maybe I'd still be mediocre in a thousand ways.
But at least I had started.