Just an update.
Oh, LiveJournal. I haven't written anything here in the longest time. Life kind of had me tied up. In any case, I think I'm back. Maybe for a long time, but probably just for this post. And then I'll get bored and leave this web site for another year or so. I always keep coming back to this when I have nothing else to do. For a long time, this web site was one my closest friends. And the strange thing is, it always feels so difficult to start writing.
The blank space here is so intimidating. I want to write something, and I want it to be entertaining and witty, but there's just not enough happening in real life. I wonder how much of what happens to interesting people is fabricated. I guess this is why I write books and not blogs. I can write forever and ever about some imaginary person's life, but when it comes down to my own, there's not much to say. Well, there's a lot to say, a lot to do and a lot to be, but it's cheesy and difficult to write it all out. And it's pointless anyway, writing about what you want when you could be out working for it.
Real life is always so boring, so pointless, so not worth a mention or second thought. Whenever I write, it's about something proverbial. I can't write about what's really happening. It's not that nothing's happening, it's just that it feels strange to write about it.
I digress, however. There is something going on. I'm having a huge internal conflict about what to make of my life. I know what I want above all is to be an author, and I know that, because I want that so badly, I will have it. But the problem lies in the fact that I hate school. I hate how school makes your favourite thing into something trivial and quantifiable. If I want to know what stupid percentage a 60-year-old menopausal woman calling herself a teacher thinks of my writing, I'll ask her personally. Besides, anyone with the possibility to think for him or herself knows that the only people who do well in school/careers are suck-ups. And I really refuse to become that.
My birthday's coming up, the big ole 17. I don't really feel excited for it at all. In the end, it'll just feel the same as being a year younger. What happened this year that changed anything? Well, a lot of stuff. I can't claim that nothing happened in these 365 days, but I can claim that there's something new all the time. There comes a point where even the occurrence of something unique or some new experience gets old. Changes might be drastic, but they're common. If you look at life, even excitement is a routine. Human emotion is a routine. School, marriage, war, tragedy, careers, death--it's all constantly happening to billions of people around the world. What makes me or you or anyone else think we're unique? What makes us think our situation hasn't happened in its entirety to someone else somewhere in a faraway land?
And to someone in a "faraway" land, YOUR country is pretty friggin' far. Life is relative. Sickeningly relative.
In other news, life is the same old stuff.
The blank space here is so intimidating. I want to write something, and I want it to be entertaining and witty, but there's just not enough happening in real life. I wonder how much of what happens to interesting people is fabricated. I guess this is why I write books and not blogs. I can write forever and ever about some imaginary person's life, but when it comes down to my own, there's not much to say. Well, there's a lot to say, a lot to do and a lot to be, but it's cheesy and difficult to write it all out. And it's pointless anyway, writing about what you want when you could be out working for it.
Real life is always so boring, so pointless, so not worth a mention or second thought. Whenever I write, it's about something proverbial. I can't write about what's really happening. It's not that nothing's happening, it's just that it feels strange to write about it.
I digress, however. There is something going on. I'm having a huge internal conflict about what to make of my life. I know what I want above all is to be an author, and I know that, because I want that so badly, I will have it. But the problem lies in the fact that I hate school. I hate how school makes your favourite thing into something trivial and quantifiable. If I want to know what stupid percentage a 60-year-old menopausal woman calling herself a teacher thinks of my writing, I'll ask her personally. Besides, anyone with the possibility to think for him or herself knows that the only people who do well in school/careers are suck-ups. And I really refuse to become that.
My birthday's coming up, the big ole 17. I don't really feel excited for it at all. In the end, it'll just feel the same as being a year younger. What happened this year that changed anything? Well, a lot of stuff. I can't claim that nothing happened in these 365 days, but I can claim that there's something new all the time. There comes a point where even the occurrence of something unique or some new experience gets old. Changes might be drastic, but they're common. If you look at life, even excitement is a routine. Human emotion is a routine. School, marriage, war, tragedy, careers, death--it's all constantly happening to billions of people around the world. What makes me or you or anyone else think we're unique? What makes us think our situation hasn't happened in its entirety to someone else somewhere in a faraway land?
And to someone in a "faraway" land, YOUR country is pretty friggin' far. Life is relative. Sickeningly relative.
In other news, life is the same old stuff.