For months, my actions have not failed to confuse the crap out of me and my laziness, or lack of words, has prevented me from putting this all in writing. I find that writing everything down, no matter how inane or senseless it may seem when written, helps bring clarity and understanding to problems in my life. If anything, it helps me to understand what exactly it is that is happening. Sometimes, so many things are happening all at once that I have no reasons or explanations for, and then it just seems to pass in a blur and I’m left gasping for breath wondering what it was that just happened.
For several months, I’ve been doing things that are completely irrational. Actually, they make a bit of sense to me, but when I try to explain it to someone else (which is rare, considering I rarely open up to other people even if we’re close to death), they’re left in complete disarray. They find that they cannot decipher my rationale for decisions that I make. They’re left more confused than they were before I dished out my feelings to them. This leaves me to rely on only myself, which up until now has been the lonely, but sensible, path. Only I understand my own motives. The issue here is that there is only so much that I do understand. There’s so many holes that I try to fill and make sense of, but it just doesn’t happen no matter how hard I try. This complicates matters quite a bit. It’s unsettling to have the knowledge that, well, you have no knowledge about a certain something having to do with yourself. It doesn’t sit too well with me.
I think the ideal thing to do is write everything out on this blog and make it private when it’s too personal to share with the whole world. I should do that on a regular basis. However, I don’t. I’m not sure why this is the case. Perhaps I’m too lazy. Perhaps I subconsciously feel that writing it all out is pointless. Perhaps I think I cannot string together coherent sentences that can articulate my innermost thoughts, because these thoughts simply cannot be verbalized. I’m not sure what it is exactly that hinders me and that bothers me, because I can be helping myself in such great ways if I only found a proper outlet through which I could relay my issues.
Ugh. I hate how I sound like a nutcase in this blog. This is definitely not anything like how this blog used to sound a year ago! Yuck, yuck. I think I really, truly am going insane and that’s no exaggeration. I mean it. It’s late. I should go to sleep before I write anything else that I’ll regret when I remember my blog in the morning.
I look back at my older entries on this blog (I can’t believe it’s been a year) and I’m fascinated by how productive and driven I used to be. I was focused and I had a plan that I actually acted upon as opposed to now where I’m struggling to find clarity in my life. I thought I had it all figured out, but it’s funny because sometimes we wholeheartedly believe we have a good understanding of everything when in reality, we’re clueless and far from knowledgeable about our present.
This is exactly what I love about blogs though. I read certain older entries and I become uplifted and inspired seeing mature positivity (as I do at the moment) or I read others and I am surprised or bewildered at my utter naivete and stupidity. Blog archives have the power to either inspire us to become the best versions of ourselves (competing with my past self is on my agenda after reading my older stuff!) or they have the ability to make us realize how much exactly our understanding of the world has deepened and matured over the years when we read entries (when I read my older blogs pre-2004, I feel pretty damn good about who I am now!).
Understandably enough, I find reading others’ blogs is so much more intriguing to me than writing my own—I think a huge part of us enjoys reading others’ blogs because we like to read about lives completely different from ours (or heck, similar) & try to understand their psychology. That applies to me, at least. It’s kind of like the thrill we get from watching movies—we get completely absorbed in other people who we have no connection with whatsoever. We feel their pain, sadness, happiness, euphoria, and whatever else there may be.
Some days, when I read a blog that I consider rather perturbing, I wonder why we even blog anyway. Who cares what some random person has to say about particular subject matter? For all we know, they can be pulling stuff out of their ass that may have no credibility or truth whatsoever, which I think is the case more often than not. Blogs can hurt as much as they help. However, this holds true for almost anything, whether it be newspapers, magazines, radio stations, television shows, or whatever other sources. It’s how the tool is utilized that matters in the end, and people should have the sense to realize that they shouldn’t believe absolutely everything they read or hear. Common sense is beautiful–use it.
Hey, you. Please, go on and walk the other way if you’re going to come to me and talk about yourself for hours on end & expect me to listen & comment on each and every single thing, but then when *I* make a comment about my own life or hint that it’s my turn to talk, your attention span magically lessens to the point of disappearance. You lose interest in the conversation. In fact, you go so far as to cut the conversation short! Well, gee, if you’re going to be such an a-hole, then don’t expect anything less from me.
I’ve always given my 110% to everyone–I’ve always been more of a listener than a talker, and to be honest, I don’t expect much from people. I don’t *expect* them to listen to each and every one of my worries & woes, which is why I don’t bother burdening them with so, because I’d rather not make it awkward or annoying for anyone. Most of what I feel remains within, but when I *do* ever decide to open up and unleash the demons that reside within (which is rare, but it does happen here and there), the least I expect is some decency and respect. Hell, even if you’re being FAKE and pretending to show concern, it’s good enough for me because then at least I can know to stop & not proceed any further without it hurting me. However, when you can’t even give your attention to me because you’re so bloody immersed in your own insignificant existence & there’s no room for anything or anyone else, then I’m going to walk away. I don’t care for company like that & make it a point to avoid it at all costs. Anyone that cannot give me the time of the day does not remain in my list-of-people-worth-talking-to.
Now that that’s written, I feel a little better. I’ve had the worst anxiety/depression/paranoia problems lately, and I think this is God’s way of making me compensate for my sins and wrongdoings. A perpetual state of sadness is what I get for every time I wronged something or someone. It’s my firm belief that for whatever I won’t get punished for in the hereafter, I will have to pay in this world in some way or another. It sucks, but it’s life and although at times I want to seriously give up & not try any further, I know that I’ll have to persevere and conquer all the odds.
I’m not liking the semester ending–something about the finality of it all is tearing me up inside. Everyone (or most of the people I knew) is leaving & even M won’t be here next semester. It’s going to seriously be dreadful in the fall, and I’m definitely not looking forward to it.
It’s funny how I’m always waiting for something or another. In high school, I was desperately anxious for college to start. During college, I waited and waited to start “real life” and defeat the world. Now that college is ending, I have yet to get a taste of “real life” because honestly this doesn’t feel like reality and I don’t know when reality will hit. I have a feeling “real life” is going to be a slap in the face when it does come, if it ever comes. Maybe this is real life and I just don’t realize it. I don’t know. Life is just endless waiting & then it’s all over and you’re left knocked off your feet wondering where all that time went. It’s sad, but it’s true and I’m scared of being knocked off my feet after wasting too much time.
My custom CSS option from WordPress will expire on June 5, 2008. I paid for it a year ago, and now that year is, of course, drawing to an end. I don’t know if I’m going to renew it because honestly, I’m not feeling this blog anymore. That is precisely the reason why my updating this thing became so sparse lately. Sigh.
I don’t know what to do with this. I’m debating on going on a hiatus. Either that, or I’m going to just delete it. However, I don’t know if deleting is the optimal choice, considering I’ve deleted blogs in the past and ended up regretting it afterwards because there was stuff in these blogs that I had later on desired to retrieve but could not. Well, I’ll think about it.
Ever since my unmemorable bank job, I have been lounging at home unemployed. It’s not that I mind this too much, because it seems as though I had worked for so long that I had forgotten what it was like to simply have some me time. During the two months and nine days that I was unemployed, I continued to sustain myself using my savings and did not ask my parents for a dollar of support. It’s not that they wouldn’t be willing to help out, but after working for however long that I did, I learned how to take care of myself instead of relying on my parental units to do so. I suppose it is a satisfyingly gratifying feeling, however, it is only such for a temporary time.
I’m not in bad shape when it comes to money, because I was wise and saved most of my earnings rather than blowing them off on expensive handbags and outfits as I used to back when I had graduated high school and held my first job. I gained a sense of clarity of purpose over the years, and realized that spending profusely is not the way to go. This realization and proactiveness certainly paid off, because now that I am unemployed, I can easily continue paying my credit card bills and such.
For me, however, this unemployed life, as relaxing and worry-free as it is, has begun to grow old. I don’t know why this is, but the other night I went through such a transformation that I became determined to land an internship somewhere. Again, don’t ask me “why” or “how” this happened. This desire for an internship has become so grained inside of me that it has become a slight obsession of sorts – I am constantly scouring the web for job possibilities. I posted my resume online a few months ago, and had ignored potential employers who had contacted me about internships after discovering my resume and finding me worthy and meeting their qualifications. This was because I wasn’t ready to go back to working, but I regret this because now that I am, I need to keep searching for prospective jobs.
I am fortunate that this one internship place contacted me through email a few days back. I responded to the email and then they proceeded to call me. We scheduled me an interview for next week, so I’m actually looking forward to it. It’s an internship at a marketing firm for financial companies. Since I want to go to graduate school for marketing, this internship will most certainly assist me in acquiring the skills and experience that I will need in my career.
I’m not really looking to work for solely the money purpose, although that is a ludicrous plus. I think these few months off were a refreshing change for me, and I’m glad to have experienced them, because it cleared my head and helped me remember why it is that I should work. I hope this job search stuff proves to be fruitful.
I can blog about a lot of the nuances of everyday life. From shockingly high gas prices to what I had for breakfast, there is a plethora of things that I can blog about. However, I don’t seem to have the energy nor the patience to write about life-related things in a long-winded fashion that necessitates the tiresome squeezing of brain juices to piece together bits and pieces of thoughts and experiences to form coherent sentences. I am mentally exhausted because there is honestly so much bullcrap going through my head every second of the day at every given hour you can think of. I wish I could run away to somewhere if for a little while to escape from certain people and reminders that continuously haunt me and give me more than a fair share of unrest.
When time catches up to one, it has this beautifully sour ability to make one realize that he could have had the one thing he coveted most if he had only exercised a little bit of patience. I could have had the world in my hands right now if I had merely waited a little. Perhaps instead of living like the end is near, I could have attempted to live with perfect, calculated ease. Instead of grabbing things, I could have waited for them to fall into my hands. It’s true when they say that you must make an effort to obtain something that you want instead of waiting endlessly for it to come to you. However, this is not always true. Sometimes in our haste to obtain the one thing that we covet most, we mistake what we do obtain as that object of desire we had so desperately longed for. However, time proves to us that it is indeed not that, but something else – an illusion meant to fool. By the time this sad realization sets in and becomes the reality of one’s life, the actual coveted thing is now long gone and belongs to someone else.
I detest writing in this thing as though it’s my personal journal – I’d rather write about ridiculous gas prices or analyze foreign policy. I would much rather publish thoughts that are not related to my heart per say, because I don’t like that I’m an open book for anyone to read and judge without shame. If I had only used my offline journal regularly, I would not have had to succumb to posting entries that pertain to my emotions. However, I find it a painstaking task to resort to my offline journal every time I have a lot going on internally, because sometimes I have too many thoughts and not the ideal writing speed to accompany them and do them justice. Blogging is an easier mechanism through which I can relay whatever is going on. I’m going to try writing about more mundane things from now on.
I wonder why most human beings possess the innate tendency to pour out their innermost inclinations while experiencing the rather arduous labor of excogitation. Is it not sometimes possible to simply keep everything on the down low? Why is it that human beings are on the verge of bursting when they do not have a proper outlet through which they can convey their emotions, whether it be through a blog, a journal, conversing with another human being, or whatever else? This dependency that I have on various outlets is a nuisance, because occasionally there will be something lingering in my mind that I just cannot talk about anywhere, even on the pages of a private journal. I fear my privacy even within the four walls of my room, because lurking everywhere there seem to be individuals that have the time and energy to break into my life by uncovering these outlets.
Why can’t my solace simply be me and nothing, and no one, else? I just don’t know or understand. I guess human nature sometimes provides us with no answers.
A couple of things from this weekend reminded me about the extent to which I am asleep inside. It seems as though I have lost the ability to truly want to even be happy anymore. Compromising and settling with life must have been the worst step I could have ever taken. Honestly, once you settle with whatever you have no matter how insignificant or lacking it is, it is extremely difficult to snap yourself out of the state of being that you are in. In my case, I wanted to cling to this inadequate, wasteful state of being. In my slumber, I forgot that living does not merely consist of breathing.
I felt a few touches of happiness this weekend and I cannot come to grasp how amazingly uplifting and inspiring it was to be reminded of this thing we call “joy”. Joy is something that we all deserve, and this fact of life slipped my mind during the past couple of months. I hope that I am able to act on this epiphany, if you can even call it that. It is more of a self-reminder than anything else – a reminder triggered by various factors pushing themselves into a person’s face in hopes of being recognized and addressed.
The most painful thing in the world sometimes is unnecessarily reflecting on what could have been.
I’m tired of attempting to analyze people. It is as though I have this inherent disease where I subconsciously analyze people trying to decipher the significance behind their actions and words. In reality, I may be totally off in my analyses, yet I am sometimes affected by my perceptions of people. The astonishing thing, however, is that I am rarely incorrect with my perceptions. The vibes, demeanor, body language, and word usage of an individual serve as a window to that person’s mind. I don’t want this unlucky trait anymore though. I’m absolutely sick and tired of knowing more than I need to know. I wish there was an “off” button for this unwanted knowledge that keeps pouring into my head every time I converse with a person.
Over the years, I have, like many other people, arrived at the painful conclusion that this world is full of phonies. Most people are only looking to fend for themselves and their intentions are more often ingenuine than genuine. I guess this is my deeply ingrained cynicism speaking, but I cannot blame myself for this belief that I hold. I have had bad experiences during my life, which is the reason why I feel this way towards people and analyze them in the matter that I do. Perhaps one day I’ll have an epiphany and lose any and all perceptive abilities, but for now it is a habit of mine to recognize and dissect certain elements in a person’s speech and conduct that allude to his or her inner thoughts and character. I may seem judgmental, however, this is not the case. It is only after repeated encounters with a person that these perceptions begin to accumulate and point to certain factors. It is after my experiences with a person that I begin to determine how close or not close I should be to them.
These are the reasons why my circle of friends has diminished considerably over the years. I used to have people swarming around me, making plans and exchanging heart-to-heart conversations, literally around the clock. However, after I gained some clarity and sense of environment, I distanced myself from the people that cunningly utilized the disguise of friendship to harbor a harmfully malicious interior.
Today, I can count the number of people that I trust on one hand and one hand alone. I don’t feel sorry for this, nor do I regret it. The truth of the matter is that this is life, and life calls for such measures sometimes especially after it is unfairly abused.
So lately, I’ve been browsing blogs and obviously I come across a myriad of types, considering everyone is unique and instilled in each one of us are distinct characteristics and tendencies. What does not cease to surprise me is that it seems as though the bloggers who I truly feel are actually discussing substantial things, rather than the typical, “oh, I woke up this morning and I had this and that for breakfast and then I trudged to work and talked to my co-worker about this and that,” receive very little if any deserving feedback on their entries. I felt sorry for some of them although I shouldn’t, because feedback is not something that validates a blog in any way, shape, or form. I think what truly validates a blog is the blogger’s willingness to keep going back to it and updating it on whim because they truly enjoy it and gain something from it.
It saddens me, however, that I read some blogs that held no appeal whatsoever, yet they were swarming with comments and whatnot. I mean, the grammar and readability of the blog entries may be horrible and disgusting, yet the blog is shining with fame due to readers’ approval of the content. And then the blogger constantly (and when I say constantly, I mean it) gloats about this in his or her entries, as though it is some kind of lifetime accomplishment. I mean, it is their blog and they have a right to say whatever they desire, but I too am entitled to stating my own opinions and reactions in regard to these things.
This all simply says something about blogging these days. No matter how beautiful and meaningful I may find a certain blog, the public may not deem it so. I find it odd albeit the fact that this holds true for many elements of life besides blogging – whether it be a particular movie, book, or whatever else, this happens. Although I deem some blogs as more worthy of attention, the bloggers themselves may not care, but I personally wish that more people would resort to reading these deserving blogs because I believe they can reap much benefit from them despite some of the popular (and in my opinion, trashy) blogs being first on their reading lists.
Maybe I look too deep into things, but I’m glad that I’ve found the handful of blogs that I find amazing and read on a regular basis. If people appreciates these blogs, I am most certainly one of them.
I could have been dead in my grave right now. No, this is not a sick joke. I’m serious. The other day as I was taking my first step down the basement stairs, my socks somehow slipped on the step (I’m still confuddled as to how this happened, but I’m not going to dig into this too deeply or else I’ll lose the few elements of calm normality that I do possess) and I went crashing down the stairs haphazardly. The thing that sticks about this incident is that my head hit each and every step on the way down because I fell in a sideways position. I don’t know if that makes any sense to you, but try to imagine it in your head. Luckily, the stairs are carpeted and are not too lengthy. As I fell, naturally for me I screamed in shock and pain. The whole right side of my body was aching – my head, some of my back, shoulders, arms, ribs, hip, knees, and the rest. My parents and younger brother who heard my bloodcurling scream came down immediately. They were in a frantic state trying to comprehend what happened to me and how (although the “how” wasn’t their primary concern and it shouldn’t have been).
Since then, my body has ached in ways that I cannot describe. Two days have passed and luckily, the pain is just now beginning to subside. I seriously thought I was going to die as I slid down those goddamn steps. I feel as though God decided to grant me some extra time. A part of me finds it difficult to believe that I deserve this. In the beginning especially, my mind would keep saying to me, “you shouldn’t be ALIVE right now!” It was simply something that made me gape in awe whenever I thought about it. I’m surprised that this fall didn’t cause me any permanent or long-term brain damage or a disk in my back going out of place.
My lesson of the day is to be careful while walking down the damn steps with socks on, especially if the stairs are carpeted. It can prove to be quite a fatal journey down those steps if you are not in the least bit careful! I have a bad feeling that I was perhaps doing one of those idiotic hop-down-the-steps thing that I do sometimes. I cannot remember though, because the of events leading to my fall are an absolute blur to me.
