Writing

All the Time.

I think about writing all the time, and yet I don’t always write. Sometimes I can go for weeks and months (even, dare I say–years) without writing. I think it bothers some people that I don’t actively write, that I’m more passive about writing and not making something more of it. But I don’t really care. I don’t always write because I don’t always want to. Nor do I want to share my thoughts or have a lot to say about whatever it is that I’m writing. That’s why my blog posts are so short sometimes–I’ve run out of things to say about it.

I was listening to an Irish vlogger tonight and her accent was real thick. I’ve listened to other Irish tubers and met Irish people in real life and I’ve never had a problem understanding what they were saying. But with this girl I had to sit there and listen to her real close. It made me feel real dumb because I thought I could understand the Irish. Clearly I’m losing touch. Or I’m just not as good as I thought I was, which bites real hard.

Just when you think you’re on top, life comes back thunks you on the head to remind you that you suck.

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Writing

A Broken Love Story.

“So, Ian — welcome to the graveyard of ambition!”
~David Nicholls, “One Day”

I like a good love story like the rest of them. But unlike the rest of them, I tend to fall in love with the stories that don’t end so happily. One of the main characters dies at the end, or another unavoidable circumstance irrevocably pushes them apart forever. It’s not that I don’t hope for a happily ever after, it’s because it seems to reflect real life so much more than an actual happily ever after.

When I was 19, I had hoped that college would be the defining moment for me in my life. It was, but not how I expected.

You see, I never dated in high school. I was never taken out on a date or asked out to prom or homecoming. I was one of those people in the middle: not quite popular but not quite at the bottom of the cesspool. I was just that average girl that everybody liked but nobody thought about. When it came time for college, I was excited at the prospect of meeting new people: new friends, new mix of guys who might like me enough to take me out on a date.

It didn’t happen.

Well. Kind of. There were a couple of guys interested enough to spend some time with me. Very brief, nothing lasting. Every time I hoped that this time would be different, it wasn’t. They just wanted a couple dates or someone to flirt with.

I decided that the effort was too much and decided to focus on studying instead. It was hard, I don’t think I succeeded in forgetting about dating.

Time passes and feelings change. I’ve come to realize that you don’t always get what you want. What you set out to do changes into a series of disappointments.

I’m not writing this because I want people to feel sorry for me. Nor do I want people to comment with consolation, trying to lift my hopes for a love that’s everlasting. Because sometimes that sort of thing never happens.

I still ache, but I am happy. I am alone; it has become entwined with me. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if that ever change. I’d probably have a panic attack. I’m too used to having the bed to myself, falling asleep listening to YouTube, and spending the day in my jamis if I want to. Having a boyfriend would mean I’d have go out and do stuff and that’s just…not me anymore, somehow. At least, that’s what I like to tell myself. I’ll still roll with it.

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Life, Writing

It’s Worth Fighting For.

“What are we holding onto, Sam?”
“That there is some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it’s worth fighting for.”

~The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers

The news has become saturated with the horrors of the world. Or maybe it’s always been this way and I just haven’t noticed. Even if it has always been this way, it seems that it floods more continuously without the good to bring us all hope.

When I see people posting articles about the state of the world, I find myself getting depressed by the minute. What is even the purpose of holding on when the world has become some black?

But there is some good in this world.

The sun still shines. The flowers have bloomed. A baby takes his first step. A group of friends sit down for dinner and music.

The rains flood us, but it can’t keep going on forever. The sun peeks out and I breathe in the fresh air. It’s fresh. It’s clean. It’s new.

I am happy in a world of unhappiness and disaster.

And it’s worth fighting for.

Despite the family separations, despite the war and famines, despite the starvation and death and shortages, the sun still rises.

And I want to keep fighting.

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Writing

The Shallow Reasons for a Relationship

I’m jealous of those who are dating or married. But I’m jealous for the shallow reasons that only a single person could be jealous of.

Things to be jealous of in a relationship:

  • Never lonely.
  • Have someone to watch t.v./movies/YouTube with.
  • Have company in the same room even if you’re doing different things
  • Have someone to wake up to
  • Have someone to hold you
  • Have someone to go out and do things with

Of course you should be in a relationship for more than the superficial reasons. But I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been in one in all the time I’ve been on earth. I’ve been told I’m not missing much, that there’s great things in being single. I know there’s great things to being single; I exhort them daily. I’m grateful. But some have been with their lover for so long that they forget what it’s like to be single. They forget that loneliness can wrap around you, hug you tight and not let go until you’re driven mad with desire. Believe me, it makes you want to go to the first person who pays the slightest attention to you. But don’t. It’s not worth it. Especially if the guy’s a butthole.

It’s been a long time since I’ve last been with someone I thought would turn into something more. And therein lies my problem. It takes me a long time to get over my love interests that almost were, but when there’s been enough time lapse, I’m feeling the tug of loneliness even when I’m certain I don’t want to. It’s a strange feeling to have.

Being single is okay. So is being in a relationship. So is being shallow. But let’s not downplay or exhort each other’s situations.

Maybe.

If you insist.

I don’t know where I was going with this, other than the fact that shallowness is indeed a feeling at times.

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Writing

The Insecurities of Love

We were walking around the mall holding hands. In a store front window was a dress. I don’t remember what it looked like, but it reminded me of something from the 50’s.

“Do you think I’d look pretty in that?” I asked.

He stopped and looked at me intently. “I think you’d look beautiful.” He paused. “You don’t think you’ll get married do you?”

I didn’t say anything, but I agreed with him. I didn’t think I was ever going to get married.

He squeezed my hand. “I think you’ll get married one day and you’ll be the most beautiful woman in that dress.”

I smiled and we continued walking.

Not long after that, he stopped talking to me and I never saw him again. Sometimes promises are broken and words are merely words that people say to make you feel better in the moment. They feel good, but it hurts worse when they leave.

I’m still single and I probably always will. I’m happy with this generally, but sometimes I get a nagging insecurity well up within me on occasion; that I’m one of those people that others aren’t interested in romantically. Sure I’ve been told I’m pretty and that I’m sweet, but not long enough for me to get the sense that I’m a worthy component to receive attention.

I’ve expressed this feeling to my friends but I think they tire of me quickly. They’re already in love, so why should it matter about the faults and struggles of others?

I’m kind of nervous about sharing this but I’m going to be brave and share it anyway. Perhaps others feel the same way and I never even knew.

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Writing

It’s been a while for a lot of things. It’s been a while since I wrote seriously. It’s been a while since I read. I finished a book yesterday and it took me a couple of weeks to get through and it was one that should have taken a week or less to read.

It’s not because of anything.

I just realized that I didn’t want to do something I didn’t want to do. Easy as that.

It happens. People change. I was getting to the point where I realized that blogging was getting to be a chore and not a delight. I was blogging for the wrong reasons: I was blogging to be blog famous and lots of followers…and not because I wanted to write for the sheer pleasure of it.

I want to find the pleasure of doing things because I want to do them and not because someone thinks I’m enjoying them. My pleasures shouldn’t be restricted by others’ expectations and yet…that’s what we’ve allowed ourselves to do: we’ve allowed others to dictate what “should make us happy and not what actually does.

You know?

I am.

And that’s me.

I like watching YouTube videos and I’m content. I wanted to watch the new IT movie but I didn’t like it so I shut it off.

Life happens. And emotions.

What are you enjoying?

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Life, Writing

Infinite.

The world falls away. The stars and the moon expand to fill the space that was once taken up by the space of our being. We float. We float and see the galaxies as they shift and meld with the colorfulness of blues and purples against the inky blackness.

They are infinite.

They are infinite and oblivious to our thought and ideas of how it came to be. We have existed; we have passed away to a more ethereal being, yet the universe doesn’t care to wonder in return. Time has no meaning; it passes in a second. An age is only a minute to those who live forever.

We can’t quite grasp it, the finality and infinite and yet we still go on as if it can be succeeded by the mere mortal minds.

We are only one.

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