about me

blogs are supposed to be private things, diaries that the whole world can see… a place where the private and the public merge in a weird exhibitionist-voyeuristic fashion. so why not write about myself?

my self… where do i begin? you know, i used to know my self, i used to know who i was, i used to be confident… now i am not so sure… i want to be able to write, i want to be able to create, i want to be able to be new… are people different? does one go through the same experiences as everyone else? does this banana taste the same to you? can one be unique? can i write? can i create? can i be new? there are so many questions i have, but no answers… i used to think i had all the answers. now i guess i should be grateful that i at least have questions left.

as one gets older, one becomes more cynical… i’ve lost the cheerful idealism of my youth (why am i talking about my youth? i am only 22… this should be my youth! i am not a 75 year old wasp-y old man – this is not my sentence at all… then again i refuse to erase it because then i will end up editing everything i wrote all over again). you see, i can’t write. i’ve become forgetful, i’ve become unimpressionable, i’ve become lazy. not that i wasn’t lazy before, it’s just now my laziness has become institutionalized like all things, and i pass my days and nights in a lazy haze of unfinished thoughts and unasked questions. it is easy to go through life like this, no pressure at all. you go do what you gotta do, you learn what they tell you to learn, you submit your generic papers, you get your grades curved up… it’s an easy life. there is really no need to rant here like a psychotic bitch. maybe i should really consider counseling, maybe i should have them tell me what i feel, so that i wouldn’t have to sit here by myself at 5 am in the morning, wondering where to go from here… where do i go from here?

you know, at the end of the day everyone is just plain lonely. one is born alone and one dies alone… if i don’t know what the fuck is going on in your head, how can i be there for you? people lead weird lives… mine is not as weird as yours. at least i know that i will always be alone… and you console yourself with sentimental emotions, which do not amount to anything really. now that i’ve thought of it, that is a good starting point: loneliness.

to define myself, i have to relinquish all my worldly associations, i have to pretend i’m utterly alone in this universe. perhaps this is what buddha did when he sat underneath that tree for i forget how many days. alone. aaaah, one can never be alone… i hear my neighbor’s alarm clock go off. shut that thing up, would you? whoever sets their alarm at 5 am? bizarre people in a bizarre world… anyway, back to the alone-ness… loneliness is not a good word for it since it has such a negative connotation for most people… why does society consider being lonely a bad thing? why do most people say that they are afraid of loneliness the most? it would be good to be perfectly alone… no distractions, no obligations, no expectations, no baggage… i’m tired of baggage… i’ve been lugging it all my life. hold on, would that mean that i would have to forget my past? what is my past? many different faces, places, cases, vases, traces, paces… it gets absurd after a while. why remember then? memory is man’s worst enemy. remember reading that borges story about a man, who could remember everything? remember, remember… funny, huh? don’t remember, forget everything. tabula rasa. why am i even writing about myself?