“I’ve Got Nothing To Say But It’s Okay.”

When I was young, I used to admire intelligent people; as I grow older, I admire kind people.

Abraham Joshua Heschel (via perfeqt)

Like a candle

set aside in wait;

Etiolated,

no more than ornamental.

Its life comes to a stand still.

No purpose,

yet—

hopeful.

The true flames

erase time.

They engulf the deepest of feelings

one can conceive.

Defying common laws,

negativity

turns into bright flames.

Scorching hot...

...happiness?

Blinded by reason

follow the heat

slowly abating in corners of your body.

There,

lies truth.

There,

lie your answers.

Happiness is not far away.

I'm the kind of person who likes to be by himself. To put a finer point on it, I'm the type of person who doesn't find it painful to be alone.

— Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

[ 중요한 영어 어휘 ] encourage / encouraging / encouragement

[ 중요한 영어 어휘 ] encourage / encouraging / encouragement

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“I think a guy fighting for his relationship and showing his feelings is more attractive than someone who acts like they don’t give a fuck.”

— Unknown

Relationships are like two temporary lines meeting once and staying still for a given time.

No one expects them to stay still forever,it is almost an obligation that of growing together to better strengthen themselves for future events.

And as for the latter,they might not be practical happenstances or chosen career paths;

they might be no more than the meeting of new lines.

Whether each of them will be remembered or not is up to the mind of said person.

There’s no obligation in this,not even in letting each meeting last till its own time is up,which would be the natural course of life never actually followed through.

We’re all living temporary meetings with others,where there should be no necessity of planning nor of requiring more than is being given.

Let’s live relationships as they come,with no requests or overthinking,as if they were a random object you picked up and kept stored on one of your most precious shelves.

02/03/2021

It’s not me.

It wasn’t me being so out of it that everything seemed dull.

There was and there is a reason.

No overthinking ended up being futile insofar as it became a starting point for a new series of events.

Things started making sense as some behaviors connected themselves with words spoken by the people in question.

Incongruent actions were carried out by people who are no more coherent themselves.

It’s okay as much as it will not worsen.

I will not just bear with it and that is a given.

———————————————————————

My world has yet to change.

What has fundamentally morphed is only myself,albeit I have to carry on like this for a while longer.

I must work on myself without trying to find distractions,whether they force themselves in my life or I let them in willingly.

It all depends on my capability of consciously making the decisions which are waiting in line and have been for a while.

I have cried more than a few times today and we both ask myself, what is wrong?

Well, I am looking at myself waiting for the answer, I seem unable to conceive that it is I who is supposed to speak, I who is supposed to know.

I don’t know.

I look at myself expecting an answer but the mirror doesn’t flinch.

.

I have to be smart and I have to be different or nothing will have meaning, but already nothing means anything so why this desire to be apart from everyone while crying out: why am I apart from everyone?

.

I don’t know if I like the things I like or I just think I do, if who I am is who I really am or who I think I am supposed to be.

I am my best friend but that is only because I have no other friends.

.

I feel light years away from everyone else but I feel galaxies away from myself.

I want to be everything so much that I end up being less than nothing.

.

You can’t replace all the blood in a person.

Do you know what that means?

.

I burst into tears at signs of tenderness and I live a new life every day, I feel more the character than the actor, I feel more the actor than myself.

.

I cry at fictional scenarios and I joy in thoughts of strangers, yet I cannot call my friends back or reply to a single text.

.

It seems instead of finding love I find new colors of sorrow, new ways to cry and new languages in which to say it hurts.

.

Do my words mean something even if I don’t?

I don’t. I don’t.

.

I am tired of categorizing my emotions as symptoms.

.

Everything I’ve ever written is the same thing, repeated.

You can guess it by now.

I wonder what kind of girl I would be if the patriarchy didn’t exist. If gender roles and stereotypes didn’t stain my entire being. If I didn’t suffer at the hands of misogyny that molded the clay that was me. I wonder what I would do, what I would say, what I would like, what I would crave, what I would be. The likelihood of us being anything close to similar seems slim considering how many things could be different. I just wonder what type of woman I would be if I hadn’t been told from the day I was born how and who I should become. Would I still enjoy wearing makeup if I hadn’t been conditioned to feel better about myself with it on? Would my favorite color still be orange if pink hadn’t been forced on me and I didn’t care to make a point of rejecting it? Would I stand up for myself more if I hadn’t been taught to cater to the comfort of others before prioritizing my own? Would my natural instinct still be to feel wary of those around me if abuse and harassment and assault were not normalized in our society? Would I still want long hair if I hadn't been brainwashed into believing that my beauty is rooted in being feminine, and that my value is rooted in being beautiful? Would I be the same? How much, or how little, would that impossible girl resemble me as I am now? And are my interests and passions genuine—truly mine—or can they all be linked to some expectation to accommodate, some predetermined role to serve, some juxtaposing desire to please a system I don’t even like. Do I actually love video games as much as I think I do, or do I only like them because I think it makes me appear cooler to men? Do I actually want to get married as much as I think I do, or do I only want to because historically that was where the female fit in? Do I actually find solace in journaling as much as I think I do, or do I only find solace in it because it is the only time I can share my traumatic experiences without being called a crazy attention seeker? There is so much I wonder about, which parts of me are real and which have been tinkered with. Which is just pure me, and which is because of something else. A factor of the patriarch. Of course I’ll never know, but that truth does not keep me from being curious about the girl who does not suffer from the wrath of an internalized male gaze and the burden of internalized misogyny. I bet she is lovely—free of the shackles—and I hope she feels at peace.

— alhwrites

“Human beings are so made that the ones who do the crushing feel nothing; it is the person crushed who feels what is happening. Unless one has placed oneself on the side of the oppressed, to feel with them, one cannot understand.”

— Simone Weil, Lectures on Philosophy