Datapad Log Initiated
The Masters suggested I do this. Keep a log. Some kind of personal exploration through writing. Apparently, it's supposed to help me… 'unstick' myself, is how they put it. Right now, 'unstick' feels less like sage advice and more like a cruel jest. I feel like I'm mired in quicksand, the harder I fight, the deeper I sink.
I don't feel like a Jedi. Not like the others. They're all progressing, mastering new forms, deepening their connection with the Force… and I'm… here. Stagnant. I hate that word, but it fits. I haven't been myself these past couple of months. Usually, I can at least pretend to be cool, confident, and collected. Now, I just feel… hollow. And, if I'm honest, a bit… angry. Resentful.
It's not fair. I know that's a childish thing to think, but it's true. I have everything I could have ever dreamed of. I was found by the Jedi young, a new found family in the Von Ascanias, were more than I could have ever asked for. I have a Master who believes in me, mentors that push me, and, honestly, a partner who… well, I'd be lost without her. Anneliese is everything I should be, a true Jedi.
But it's like… it's all surface. Like a mask. I wear this calm, detached façade, and inside… there's just this cold emptiness.
I've been told that it might be beneficial to look towards the past, to see what may be keeping me here, like some anchor. So here it is, maybe my past is that anchor keeping me back.
It could be the monotony. The routine of training, the endless practice. Maybe it's the time alone in between, wandering the halls of the temple, lost in my thoughts. It reminds me of the Vossari estate on Serenno, the way I would walk the silent corridors, feeling small, lost and insignificant.
Those empty halls…
The house used to be full of life, I've been told. Full of laughter. The servants would share stories, tales of a home bathed in love and light. My mother would tell me of a time before. Before the house fell into silence. I don't remember any of that. I was too young. Everything I know of the past is from stories told by others.
I was the youngest, by a wide margin. My siblings, Owen and Siara, were already teenagers by the time I was even born. Owen, they said, was born to lead. Noble. Confident. Perfect. My father says Owen would have been twice the heir I would ever be.
Then, the crash. Owen, speeding on the open roads, trying to show off for his friends. Gone. My father… he never recovered. I could see it. He looked right through me, like I was a ghost. It was as if I wasn't enough. Like I was a bad substitute for someone who could never be replaced.
Later that same year, Siara. A sickness. Just… gone. And with her, my mother's light. After that, the house wasn't just quiet anymore, it was… cold. Oppressive. Empty.
And me? There I was, a child, walking those vast rooms, the weight of the entire House resting on my small shoulders. I don't think anyone ever realized it, always telling me I was too young to worry, always shielding me from the truth.
Maybe that's why I'm so lost now. I was never really given a choice, was I? My life was laid out for me, a predetermined path. Now… now, I have choices. So many of them. Maybe that's why I can't move. Because every part of me still expects my father to show up at the temple doors, to drag me back to the life I never wanted. What is the point if he could take it all away? The future I'm building for myself here at the Temple?
I want to be a Jedi. I do. I just don't know… how. To push through this, to find my own purpose in the galaxy, not the purpose that was carved out for me before I even had a chance to breathe.
Hopefully, this helps. Maybe writing this all out, staring at the truth of it, might finally help me figure out what I'm doing here and what I truly want. For the first time...
Datapad Log Ended
