Problems

I am a simple person with a simple purpose: I solve Problems. I take a Problem, put in effort, and get rid of it. Failing that, I try to make the Problem smaller, at least. Then I move on to another Problem; thankfully, they seem to be never-ending. Solving Problems is good; it makes someone's life better. Hopefully. My effort might even get acknowledged.

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A friend reaches out to me; they have a Problem. I drop everything and try my best to help them. They're my friend, so I can't say no.

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An educational institution gives me a task. I stare at it; suspiciously Problem-shaped, it stares back at me. But I see its true nature. I know it's not a Problem, so I don't do it, not until failing to do the task becomes a Problem by itself.

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I scroll through bits and pieces of human minds their owners deemed worthy of sharing. Yet another attempt to convince me that a machine will take my job, solving Problems instead of me. I glance around; the number of Problems doesn't seem to decrease much. Maybe in the future it will.

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Sometimes, when I'm bored, I make up a Problem. It's not real, but it doesn't matter; a few hours in, I can't tell the difference anyway. Eventually I solve it, and for a fleeting moment it even feels almost as satisfying.

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There are other people who solve Problems, and many are better at it than I am too. Do they look at me as someone to replace? As a Problem to solve?

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I'm scrolling again. Someone reminds me that I am a part of some Problem.

This means I should solve… myself?

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A friend reaches out to me; they want to vent. Is it a Problem? I can't tell.

I don't know what to do.

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It's 4 in the morning. The city's asleep. The only sound outside is the chirping of birds.

Sometimes I wish I were a bird. Then I wouldn't have Problems.