a sense of place
4578. as of this writing, that is the number of tweets i've ever tweeted, not counting the ones that i've deleted. before venturing off into tweeting, i thought to myself that maybe i won't tweet as much. after all, i've only posted 316 journal entries in the course of 9 years, this being my 317th. however, i'm finding it hard to find an outlet for several of my frustrations as of late and, most recently, a friend of mine tweeted me (albeit jokingly) a sentence that basically says that people are most likely tired of my (perhaps seemingly cryptic and depressing) tweets. i admit; i too am tired of myself at most times.
i had this conversation with another friend, about coming back to livejournal. aside from my sentimentality over this place, one of the main reasons why i always found myself back here was the fact that nobody would be able to find this place unless they knew the exact web address. for some, it probably didn't make sense. why bother writing an online blog that's free for everybody to read about but at the same time write without letting anyone know about it? but it's not like nobody knows about it, or that i don't want anybody to read it; people have only forgotten about it, and i guess that's fine in it's own way. there is also that allowance of raw emotion that, i think, could only be done in this part of the internet which always pulls me back, although i always think that i sounded too childish whenever i would go back to what i wrote years ago.
so picture this: livejournal is like my home. and it has been for the first 5 years. but at some point, i had to leave home. you know, like how an american kid would leave home when they go off to college. so i set myself out into the world, setting up other accounts, or apartments if you will, in places like twitter and, most recently, tumblr. they're pretty much ok to be in. in a nutshell, i kinda grew out of livejournal. but at the back of my mind, whenever there was just too much to say, or the world was too hard, i found myself coming back home, into this comfortable corner where i can complain. about growing up. about my job. about my writing. about loves lost and other feelings. about life. and how inexplicably tired i was of everyday, just trying to endure, trying to be what constitutes as an "adult". and most of the time, it bleeds through the apartments i have been staying in, in cryptic messages that no one else understands, or doesn't care to understand. i guess that's fine too, in its own way. but i can't say that it's not lonely, specially when it feels like i'm bothering everyone else who is residing in said apartment.
what comes into mind is that scene from eternal sunshine of the spotless mind that takes place in joel barish's memory. this particular memory is what propels the movie to start in the first place, and is also the last memory of clementine kruczynski that joel says goodbye to. scene: empty beach house, night. joel is reluctant to go inside someone else's home while clementine is dying to go in and assume the roles of previous inhabitants of the house. she goes upstairs, inviting joel to come with her. he is scared and instead asks her to go back with him to the beach. what happens next are two different things that, i believe, works out pretty much what i am. clementine says, "so go", which joel, looking back at this memory, describes as being said "with much disdain", and he goes back the beach to "outrun his humiliation". at the same time, clementine (who is at this point only a construction of his memory) tells him that she wished he had stayed. what is similar to these two instances is the desire for the other to stay, yet there is also the fear of being rejected, enacted out immediately by joel who runs away while clementine seen during the scene before this one when they meet again in the bookstore where clementine works. to use this in the context of this whole post about sense of belonging (in the realm of social media/blogging in relation to growing up) perhaps what i really want is someone who would understand, who won't reject me for being me. or would accept a version of me that even i can't completely accept, or am ashamed of (as the case of joel/clementine was). at the same time, i am also afraid of inviting people in, of speaking out, or insisting people to stay because i am deathly afraid of being crushed again, being rejected, feeling like a burden to other people, not being heard. unfortunately, this usually happens to me.
it's been a year, and frankly, i am having much difficulty in finding places and people to be okay with myself, and i needed to run back home here to vent. but even in coming back here, i can't seem to shake off that obligation of being more mature. for your information, dear reader of mine who has accidentally stumbled here and already reached this point in reading this entry, i've only written in this manner when i needed to slightly impress people. notice the insertion of figures in the first paragraph, an attempt to perhaps be heard, believed in. like in the little prince where everything that has numbers and figures, that doesn't seem ridiculous, is accepted by fellow adults. even in my own creative writing, i am compelled to give out exact figures for people to believe in me, or to hear me out, even for a moment. maybe that's what growing up does to you; you take on a mask for everybody to see, a mask that is obvious to you that it is so not like you, until it finally becomes your face and you don't know how to take it off anymore even when you're by yourself. to put into context, though i'm in this space, i feel like i still can't be 100% me even though i'm at home where i'm supposedly free to be me. as of now, i find myself constantly wearing masks, not to fool people, but masks that people assume i would wear for them. or rather, i am getting used to the mode of trying to live up to the expectations of other people, to be whatever they need me to be for them, or whatever they think i am while, at the same time, no one reaches out to truly understand, to listen. again, the expectation is to be able to handle these kinds of situations "like an adult". and all i can do, really, is to endure. a friend once commented about how i was just so good at enduring things that it just comes off naturally, and it was painful to watch.
at the end of the day, this whole thing just genuinely hurts and it just adds up to the loneliness of not belonging anywhere. i have been beyond emotionally spent for so long, and i just need someone to call home to. there is just so much desperation in this need that i am willing to go back here, despite this home as a place no one knows of or visits anymore: a place of few posts (mostly consisting of childish rants) that no one hears besides myself.
i had this conversation with another friend, about coming back to livejournal. aside from my sentimentality over this place, one of the main reasons why i always found myself back here was the fact that nobody would be able to find this place unless they knew the exact web address. for some, it probably didn't make sense. why bother writing an online blog that's free for everybody to read about but at the same time write without letting anyone know about it? but it's not like nobody knows about it, or that i don't want anybody to read it; people have only forgotten about it, and i guess that's fine in it's own way. there is also that allowance of raw emotion that, i think, could only be done in this part of the internet which always pulls me back, although i always think that i sounded too childish whenever i would go back to what i wrote years ago.
so picture this: livejournal is like my home. and it has been for the first 5 years. but at some point, i had to leave home. you know, like how an american kid would leave home when they go off to college. so i set myself out into the world, setting up other accounts, or apartments if you will, in places like twitter and, most recently, tumblr. they're pretty much ok to be in. in a nutshell, i kinda grew out of livejournal. but at the back of my mind, whenever there was just too much to say, or the world was too hard, i found myself coming back home, into this comfortable corner where i can complain. about growing up. about my job. about my writing. about loves lost and other feelings. about life. and how inexplicably tired i was of everyday, just trying to endure, trying to be what constitutes as an "adult". and most of the time, it bleeds through the apartments i have been staying in, in cryptic messages that no one else understands, or doesn't care to understand. i guess that's fine too, in its own way. but i can't say that it's not lonely, specially when it feels like i'm bothering everyone else who is residing in said apartment.
what comes into mind is that scene from eternal sunshine of the spotless mind that takes place in joel barish's memory. this particular memory is what propels the movie to start in the first place, and is also the last memory of clementine kruczynski that joel says goodbye to. scene: empty beach house, night. joel is reluctant to go inside someone else's home while clementine is dying to go in and assume the roles of previous inhabitants of the house. she goes upstairs, inviting joel to come with her. he is scared and instead asks her to go back with him to the beach. what happens next are two different things that, i believe, works out pretty much what i am. clementine says, "so go", which joel, looking back at this memory, describes as being said "with much disdain", and he goes back the beach to "outrun his humiliation". at the same time, clementine (who is at this point only a construction of his memory) tells him that she wished he had stayed. what is similar to these two instances is the desire for the other to stay, yet there is also the fear of being rejected, enacted out immediately by joel who runs away while clementine seen during the scene before this one when they meet again in the bookstore where clementine works. to use this in the context of this whole post about sense of belonging (in the realm of social media/blogging in relation to growing up) perhaps what i really want is someone who would understand, who won't reject me for being me. or would accept a version of me that even i can't completely accept, or am ashamed of (as the case of joel/clementine was). at the same time, i am also afraid of inviting people in, of speaking out, or insisting people to stay because i am deathly afraid of being crushed again, being rejected, feeling like a burden to other people, not being heard. unfortunately, this usually happens to me.
it's been a year, and frankly, i am having much difficulty in finding places and people to be okay with myself, and i needed to run back home here to vent. but even in coming back here, i can't seem to shake off that obligation of being more mature. for your information, dear reader of mine who has accidentally stumbled here and already reached this point in reading this entry, i've only written in this manner when i needed to slightly impress people. notice the insertion of figures in the first paragraph, an attempt to perhaps be heard, believed in. like in the little prince where everything that has numbers and figures, that doesn't seem ridiculous, is accepted by fellow adults. even in my own creative writing, i am compelled to give out exact figures for people to believe in me, or to hear me out, even for a moment. maybe that's what growing up does to you; you take on a mask for everybody to see, a mask that is obvious to you that it is so not like you, until it finally becomes your face and you don't know how to take it off anymore even when you're by yourself. to put into context, though i'm in this space, i feel like i still can't be 100% me even though i'm at home where i'm supposedly free to be me. as of now, i find myself constantly wearing masks, not to fool people, but masks that people assume i would wear for them. or rather, i am getting used to the mode of trying to live up to the expectations of other people, to be whatever they need me to be for them, or whatever they think i am while, at the same time, no one reaches out to truly understand, to listen. again, the expectation is to be able to handle these kinds of situations "like an adult". and all i can do, really, is to endure. a friend once commented about how i was just so good at enduring things that it just comes off naturally, and it was painful to watch.
at the end of the day, this whole thing just genuinely hurts and it just adds up to the loneliness of not belonging anywhere. i have been beyond emotionally spent for so long, and i just need someone to call home to. there is just so much desperation in this need that i am willing to go back here, despite this home as a place no one knows of or visits anymore: a place of few posts (mostly consisting of childish rants) that no one hears besides myself.