What date is it today?
I guess it’s just another day I haven’t read or written. The scribbles in my journal are almost illegible and make less sense day by day.
The sound of construction work outside is flaring up my abdominal pain. The neon lights in the evening hurt my brain, but I guess that’s part of a new beginning. Some people love and hate new beginnings. They are anxious about new adjustments, people and surroundings. And soon, they realize that this is why they are here, and they grow to love it. However, it doesn’t feel the same if the new beginning is only provisional because more changes are coming up.
It might be a temporary ‘new’ environment, but I’m not sure. In fact, I’ve become less sure about what I do and what I should be doing. The focus on improving my life kind of fell apart due to the lack of solitude and the lack of time to think clearly. I find it hard to accept what I can’t change the way I am. I can’t alleviate their sorrow; if anything, they inject me with it.
Whenever I try to focus on what I can do, I wonder if I’m doing it for them or myself.
I’ve been questioning the validity of reality without having any interest in the answers because they wouldn’t contribute to a good story. Reality has evolved into such a bad cliché that I don’t see any originality anymore. I’m not playing the judge; I’m just looking for worthwhile inspirations that I can develop and give meaning to. I don’t talk about these things, so who am I to criticize anyone?
Besides, there are so many lies and secrets involved in reality that it drains me and makes me sick. It litters my mind with who I should be and rubs salt in some healing wounds that were caused by failures and mistakes.
Creating reminders of why you are here is important, such as continuing to do and practice what you love because otherwise, you’ll forget why you exist. I’m already forgetting.
If I’m not wrong, March 2016 is the first month since 2009 that I haven’t blogged a single post. This puts me to shame. I can’t blame apathy. I can’t blame lethargy because I’m the one who produces it all. It’s my own damn fault.
There are three types of artists: Type one is sociable, Type two is reserved, and Type three is a good actor. After many years of observation, I figured that the actor has the best chances of survival and maintaining their art. He has a high EQ, secrets that you will probably never know, but he knows his way around because he knows people. And these people love him without knowing him entirely. He is Type-One and Type-Two combined. I’m trying to embrace my nature as a Type two, sometimes the Type three will seep through and help me blend in, but I can never make him last long.
It’s April 1 today. I wrote a little over 500 words that may lack coherence. But I can see some meanings here and there, so I won’t complain. I will write nicer and neater in my journal (because the stream of consciousness is not universal). I will hopefully find a good, worthwhile book to read. Lastly, I will play my favourite songs.
