A beginning
"Every new beginning comes from another beginning's end."
"What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from."
I sit here and I stare through my window at a black sea of endless stars. It stretches above another sea, a sea of concrete nightmares and neon lights. I am in a city, I have lived in cities for much of my life, but they never feel like home. They *are* alive, so much more alive than the little village I grew up in. They are full of an endless human energy, a drive that brought our race from the primordial soup all the way here, but despite their energy they are not as beautiful as that little village, and they never will be.
This is a strange time. The end of an important part of my life came not too long ago. Now I am lost, holding on to a piece of driftwood to avoid sinking, not knowing at all where the currents will take me ... just as long as it is not here. I do not like being here in this place at this time, because I am alone. Alone with not much to look forward to. I await a white sail on the horizon, but it will not come today.
That's why I'm here, on the Internet, writing in a silly little Livejournal. Even someone as old-fashioned as I needs to be dragged kicking and screaming into the digital age, and today is as good a day for it as any. Because of something as trivial as a shortage of paper, I'll put my ramblings on the Internet and expose something dark in my head for all the world to see. People'll probably think I'm one of those 16-year-old kids who whines about how unfair life is and how no one can understand her pain. But I'm not. I'm just a normal woman who has dark moments like every other woman. I know that my troubles are nothing extraordinary. Indeed, they are quite trivial when compared to all the suffering that goes on in the world. Ah, but here's the thing: They're mine. Dear reader, if you wish to read about suicide bombings on the Gaza strip or the famine in Darfur, pick up a paper. But if you want to read about the things a young woman sees when she turns her gaze inward on a dark night, you've come to the right place.
"What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from."
I sit here and I stare through my window at a black sea of endless stars. It stretches above another sea, a sea of concrete nightmares and neon lights. I am in a city, I have lived in cities for much of my life, but they never feel like home. They *are* alive, so much more alive than the little village I grew up in. They are full of an endless human energy, a drive that brought our race from the primordial soup all the way here, but despite their energy they are not as beautiful as that little village, and they never will be.
This is a strange time. The end of an important part of my life came not too long ago. Now I am lost, holding on to a piece of driftwood to avoid sinking, not knowing at all where the currents will take me ... just as long as it is not here. I do not like being here in this place at this time, because I am alone. Alone with not much to look forward to. I await a white sail on the horizon, but it will not come today.
That's why I'm here, on the Internet, writing in a silly little Livejournal. Even someone as old-fashioned as I needs to be dragged kicking and screaming into the digital age, and today is as good a day for it as any. Because of something as trivial as a shortage of paper, I'll put my ramblings on the Internet and expose something dark in my head for all the world to see. People'll probably think I'm one of those 16-year-old kids who whines about how unfair life is and how no one can understand her pain. But I'm not. I'm just a normal woman who has dark moments like every other woman. I know that my troubles are nothing extraordinary. Indeed, they are quite trivial when compared to all the suffering that goes on in the world. Ah, but here's the thing: They're mine. Dear reader, if you wish to read about suicide bombings on the Gaza strip or the famine in Darfur, pick up a paper. But if you want to read about the things a young woman sees when she turns her gaze inward on a dark night, you've come to the right place.