Bohemian Rhapsody
August 10th, 2026
Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality
Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see
I’m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy
Because I’m easy come, easy go
Little high, little low
Any way the wind blows doesn’t really matter to me, to me
Today, someone told me that they wanted to be like me when they grow up; someone who I’ve admired and respected for a while. The first time we met in 2019, they already had their own business running. Yesterday, someone else described me as stable; saying that through the years, they had to try a few things before they found themselves, but I found my vibe early and have been stable with it. Another day, someone said they broke an academic record because they first saw me do it. Yet another person says that I remind them of someone great. Someone else tells me that they dreamt that I won a prestigious award. Another says they love my work. It feels good when people experience you and feel a nudge to be better, or trust you enough to let your experiences guide them. I look up to a lot of people, and the thought that someone else looks up to me in that way is heartwarming.
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Come to think of it though. I don’t like spotlights. I don’t crave attention. Being in my little corner of the world, all I can do is live. When someone takes note of me, it amazes me. I’ve learnt that people always watch. Even when it seems like work is being done in a vacuum, there’s always some audience somewhere. In writing on Medium, I’ve come to learn this. Even when the stats don’t show, every now and then, someone randomly tells me that they saw my post, and shares their thoughts.
However, the knowledge that there is a form of spotlight on you, just tips off your scales. Knowing that someone would read what you put out comes with the pressure of having to write at a certain standard, proofread and adjust loose grammar. Sometimes, entire posts are abandoned, and ideas with more flow are pursued instead. A bubble is created, and one has to live within it.
With the right amount of pressure, the Bohemian Rhapsody comes on. That’s the point where the reality is questioned. Why do I have to be a certain way? Why do some people think too highly of me, even when the version of me that they experienced is probably lost in the past? Why do I have to meet people’s high expectations? Why do I seek validation from people whose responses I can’t control? Why put my happiness into the hands of another? Have I really trapped myself in a landslide; a persona that ensures I don’t escape from this reality? Do I want to escape? Would I prefer being silent and in the dark? I don’t have the answers, but all I can do is observe. After all, I’m just a boy living. I don’t want to be pitied.
Because I’m easy come, easy go
Little high, little low
Any way the wind blows doesn’t really matter to me, to me
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