Thinking... again
So I've been doing a lot of thinking since my last post, talking to a few people online who are giving me some perspective, or maybe it's just one big fest of thinking that leaves us all wounded and sad.. I don't know.
Remember back in high school when we used to be so creative? When we could pick something and just turn it into something beautiful, whether it be something we drew, or wrote about? Something we described but you could just look at something, or picture something in your head and before you knew it, there was something in front of you. Something that was awesome and something you might remember for a while. Just little things I guess. Where did that go? Where did our sudden ability to turn something normal into something beautiful go? Where did the vampires, the witches, the stories of ghosts, the stories of life it self.. where did It all go? It's like creativity was an inner child of ours and as we grew, we suppressed it. Held it back, had no use for it, and slowly, it just faded.. or perhaps it just died away. Perhaps thats when we really did become adults, the second these things in us just dissappeared, the second we lose the abilities, we just become adults, maybe that was the only thing keeping us as kids, because everyday I know I'm growing, and a part of me thinks I'm an adult, but I know I'm not. then again, I know I'm not a kid anymore, part of me that was, isn't quite here anymore, I'm not so innocent, not so naive... not so whatever it was that kept me that way... maybe we're all just forced to grow up to quickly these days, pretending we know what is going on in the world, pretending we know what direction we have to go in. Maybe that is all life is, us pretending we know what we're doing when in fact we don't.
I think somewhere, between growing up and being who I am right now, I've lost a lot of me. Like I've lost the me that was quiet and that would just take time out to observe and get a sense of her surroundings, loss the part of me that could come up with crazy stories in the blink of an eye. Lost the part of me that was innocent and only wanted the world to be okay, and the primary school girl who glimpsed the darkness then saw the sunshine and clouds afterwards. Hell, I even lost my party girl side. The girl who could drink all night and still feel sober, the girl who would run around doing crazy things just for the hell of it, and who would drink just because she could. I don't really know whats left right now. I mean I was independant at one stage, completely good with being alone, sitting in my room or whatever. I know she's gone. So are we happier now?
How can we really say that we're happier? I mean we look back into the past and we remember the bad things so well and all that good stuff, where did it go? How come it's so easy to feel empathy for the bad, feel that emotion again, coursing through your veins, bubbling over, and yet the happy things seem lost, almost deadened. Like we subconsciously chose not to remember them. Shouldn't we be suppressing the bad so we are okay? So we can live better, and remember how fantastic this world can actually be? Instead of looking and seeing darkness. Then I look at the present. We should all be somewhat happy. I mean, we have people we care about somewhere out there, obviously a place to live since we have the internet and we're blogging. We have enough food, and water... we should be happy we have at least that. And yet we're not.
We should write a book, for the people to come, explaining to them, life isn't like movies. You're friends aren't all around the corner from you. They're not always going to be there for you no matter how hard you try. That one stage or another, you're going to meet a back stabbing whore. That you may never be the prettiest, smartest or most popular person. That you have to be happy with the way you look because basically at the end of the day, the only way to change it is with plastic surgery or the such. That family, is at times going to drive you mental and we don't all have the perfect family with a dad and mum and a sister or brother that gives a damn. There are going to be problems, you're going to yell and as you get older, you start to despise your parents. The start to become controlling because they think they know what is best. You scream, you hate, you swear you want to leave and at times, you will leave and won't come back. you're going to learn that relationships can suck you dry and leave you swearing off them, but ineveitably you go back and you try again, with someone else, hoping it's better. Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't. You're going to learn that you're going to try your hardest to get somewhere, and you might not make ever make it. That sometimes you can find random things in the strangest of places and those famillliar may not be familiar.
Someone should have told us that. Someone should have told us that life is different. It changes. Someone should tell us that sometimes what we see are lies, and that some things can never be explained. SO Why didn't they?
Remember back in high school when we used to be so creative? When we could pick something and just turn it into something beautiful, whether it be something we drew, or wrote about? Something we described but you could just look at something, or picture something in your head and before you knew it, there was something in front of you. Something that was awesome and something you might remember for a while. Just little things I guess. Where did that go? Where did our sudden ability to turn something normal into something beautiful go? Where did the vampires, the witches, the stories of ghosts, the stories of life it self.. where did It all go? It's like creativity was an inner child of ours and as we grew, we suppressed it. Held it back, had no use for it, and slowly, it just faded.. or perhaps it just died away. Perhaps thats when we really did become adults, the second these things in us just dissappeared, the second we lose the abilities, we just become adults, maybe that was the only thing keeping us as kids, because everyday I know I'm growing, and a part of me thinks I'm an adult, but I know I'm not. then again, I know I'm not a kid anymore, part of me that was, isn't quite here anymore, I'm not so innocent, not so naive... not so whatever it was that kept me that way... maybe we're all just forced to grow up to quickly these days, pretending we know what is going on in the world, pretending we know what direction we have to go in. Maybe that is all life is, us pretending we know what we're doing when in fact we don't.
I think somewhere, between growing up and being who I am right now, I've lost a lot of me. Like I've lost the me that was quiet and that would just take time out to observe and get a sense of her surroundings, loss the part of me that could come up with crazy stories in the blink of an eye. Lost the part of me that was innocent and only wanted the world to be okay, and the primary school girl who glimpsed the darkness then saw the sunshine and clouds afterwards. Hell, I even lost my party girl side. The girl who could drink all night and still feel sober, the girl who would run around doing crazy things just for the hell of it, and who would drink just because she could. I don't really know whats left right now. I mean I was independant at one stage, completely good with being alone, sitting in my room or whatever. I know she's gone. So are we happier now?
How can we really say that we're happier? I mean we look back into the past and we remember the bad things so well and all that good stuff, where did it go? How come it's so easy to feel empathy for the bad, feel that emotion again, coursing through your veins, bubbling over, and yet the happy things seem lost, almost deadened. Like we subconsciously chose not to remember them. Shouldn't we be suppressing the bad so we are okay? So we can live better, and remember how fantastic this world can actually be? Instead of looking and seeing darkness. Then I look at the present. We should all be somewhat happy. I mean, we have people we care about somewhere out there, obviously a place to live since we have the internet and we're blogging. We have enough food, and water... we should be happy we have at least that. And yet we're not.
We should write a book, for the people to come, explaining to them, life isn't like movies. You're friends aren't all around the corner from you. They're not always going to be there for you no matter how hard you try. That one stage or another, you're going to meet a back stabbing whore. That you may never be the prettiest, smartest or most popular person. That you have to be happy with the way you look because basically at the end of the day, the only way to change it is with plastic surgery or the such. That family, is at times going to drive you mental and we don't all have the perfect family with a dad and mum and a sister or brother that gives a damn. There are going to be problems, you're going to yell and as you get older, you start to despise your parents. The start to become controlling because they think they know what is best. You scream, you hate, you swear you want to leave and at times, you will leave and won't come back. you're going to learn that relationships can suck you dry and leave you swearing off them, but ineveitably you go back and you try again, with someone else, hoping it's better. Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't. You're going to learn that you're going to try your hardest to get somewhere, and you might not make ever make it. That sometimes you can find random things in the strangest of places and those famillliar may not be familiar.
Someone should have told us that. Someone should have told us that life is different. It changes. Someone should tell us that sometimes what we see are lies, and that some things can never be explained. SO Why didn't they?