This blog doesn’t say anything. I don’t think I’ve really said anything in the last week, its all just been a mesh, a compilation of psycho babbling. Anyway, bear with me.
I’ve been writing a lot lately, though. And I mean a freakin lot. I’ve decided to turn these arbitrary life questions into a book, hopefully, one I can finish by the time I get home. Oh, commitment.
Writing isn’t as easy as it might seem. There’s something incredibly mentally draining about typing words, about organizing your thoughts in terms you hope people might want to read. I hope people actually read this, though I could never expect them to. More psycho babbling. I go on and on about life, but am I actually living? I guess not. I’ll have to delve into that, the whole idea of actual living, for it seems, yea I’ve acknowledged a reason to live, but no actual ideology or acknowledgement of what living is. I did go out last night. That was interesting…
I was talking to a friend of mine on Skype, telling him about this new ultimatum, and he just laughed.
“You need more friends.” He smirked. I didn’t get it at first.
Then it sort of hit me. I spend hours in my cramped headspace, writing. Inherently, talking to myself, going in circles, wondering about other people, when I hardly interact with them. I mean, yea, I interact with them daily. I’m by no means a hermit, but I just want to get all these ideas out. I’ve spent so many years interacting, all I want to do now is explain. I want it all down on paper so that in twenty years I can look back and laugh at who I was. So I can remember who I was, and who knows, maybe I won’t look back and think I was a total idiot.
At the same time, there’s something unbelievably profound about writing, something so indefinably gratifying. I feel resolute and strong in my affirmations, when I’m really not doing anything. I sit here and type about impracticalities, but for some reason, they feel more real this way, as if putting my scattered thoughts into words allows me to translate more then just the arbitrary feelings. The thoughts turn into actual proficient terms, and reasons. There’s something to be defined and when I can’t define, something to be explained in emotive, archaic language. My mind becomes a livid language, one, I realized, can be determined and understood. It’s no longer a matter of looking for myself; I can sort through the questions and ultimately decipher what I truly mean.
I can’t say I’ve ever really felt like this, as if I actually maintain a kind of purpose outside the confines of regularity. These are my reasonings, my thoughts, all those realities I designate to the world in terms of my own awareness. There’s something beautiful about that. Something untouched and unyielding that shakes me like a tree until I drop every unknown, every realization I never before realized. Its like writing itself has awakened me, brought me to life, and I’ve become something I’m actually ok with. It’s a strange acknowledgment, when you actually look yourself in the mirror and accept yourself for what you are. Without any witness, or general consensus, you breathe yourself in and the simplifications spew, and you just are. There’s no mask, no need for acceptance, no underlying twitch that whispers you’re wrong. No. This is you, in all your glory, beautiful and stagnant in your own prose. It’s beyond other people. Life becomes authentic and real, your own transcendental meditation.
But all the while, I feel like I’m missing something. Like there should be more to it, more that I haven’t said, more to be said. Of course, there is. In lieu of this query, I’ve taken it upon myself to write a book, or at least to try, all on the same grounds of this blog. I am by no means a writer or a philosopher. I maintain no proper education or formal training in regard to the goal I intend to accomplish, but inherently, that doesn’t change anything. I do not intend to write some unchartered manifesto, but a teenage girls recognition on the universal values of life. That’s really all I can say, as I’m not sure I’m actually experienced enough in anything else but life. I’ve lived a long enough to know my own thoughts, but that’s all. I don’t plan to put words in anyone’s mouth, or pretend I’m more knowledgeable than I am about the ways of the world. This is no screened biography; it’s not my life, but life itself. Life experienced, life portrayed, life perceived. That’s it. I’m in goddamn China. Seriously, it needs to be documented. There really is just that much to say that has nothing to do with government, or the news, economics, or any textbook generalization. This is about the actual nature, the actual being, the life inside this pulsing, vibrant place, and the unbelievable contrast to my own home. All those contradicting values intertwined within that beautiful, stark reservoir of human ambivalence. It’s all there, beckoning me to tap that untamed, wild energy, and condense it into language. Condense all those vivid beliefs and arbitrary natures in terms people can understand. I want to show people how I see them, because in all honesty, I am just always at such odds with myself, I could never take it upon myself to actually talk to people
There is probably more to then that, more to it that I’m acknowledging, or that I don’t understand. Of course, part of me wants to come to terms with everything I believe, as I’m not sure I truly understand myself, or half the things that come out of my mouth either. But really, I just want to understand the world around me. I want to understand all these damn people, because I feel like I can watch, and watch, and become one with all these commonalities, but there are just no exact specifics. There’s just too much to acknowledge, and I’m not smart enough to remember it all. And what’s the point of keeping it to myself? Isn’t that in itself the beauty of life, that it can be shared and communicated? Why not take it upon myself to write, and profess and try to teach people something I genuinely think they’re missing, or at least the vast majority? I don’t want to be a bystander. If there’s some lone college student out there, someone in the exact same position as me, why shouldn’t I reach out to them?
I just don’t know.
