The act of writing comes from a well of discombobulated ideas, aspirations, and memories in life that are brought to life in the form of words. They are recalled for the purpose of being able to look back and see the steps I've traveled leading to this very point.
I write because I wish to retrace the events leading to my becoming, steps that are fundamentally necessary to my being but, at the same time, excruciatingly gut-wrenching.
I write because these thoughts running in my head are broken. They represent pieces of what once was whole, but are shattered by a faintest of ideas. Regardless, they're there, scattered and waiting to be cleaned up.
Descartes started from brokenness that was preceded by Occam's Razor, the concept that sliced pre-modern philosophy into a loss. Only when Descartes reasserted his own existence in this broken world that everything made sense.
That's basically what I'm feeling every time I write notes in this personally impersonal journal - it is an affirmation that I'm here, I suck at life, and I want to prove to myself and the world that I don't. Sometimes, the conclusion's a mixed bag. But it's worth a shot.
---
I cannot divulge the specifics, but a particular day that happened this week will haunt me forever. I will never forget the facial expression, the palpable emotion, the words. Oh, the words!
Truth haunts me. They find me even when I taught I've lost them and beat me to a pulp. I'm spineless and left writhing on the floor even though the battle hasn't even begun yet. I do not know what to do next when shit hits the fan.
At that moment, all the flaws were revealed, leaving me naked and shamed by my own insecurities. Pathetic.
Only way to salvation is to actually face the music and just be better. This immediately reminded me of Christina Aguilera's "Beautiful." Not all people are beautiful. Some are fugly, albeit not in the physical kind of way. There are rapists, child molesters, corrupt politicians, deadbeat parents, and dirty brown water trash, to name a few. Are they beautiful? Fuck no.
Note to Christina: you're wrong. This song propagates mediocrity because people should accept who you are - imperfections and all. But let's face it: nobody loves an asshole. In fact, dickwads and jerkoffs are cast away and left to rot along with their kind. To actually be beautiful, you have to earn it, just as the next person should.
So far, I've done the necessary steps to even brush with the notion of beauty. I want to be better, which is why I'm doing these. It's for the people I love, but it's for me, most importantly. I'm tired of hearing the same complaints and having the same shitty reaction that I have when I hear something negative about me. I'm sick of being left out of the loop because I didn't give a shit. I want to matter, I want others to matter, even the smallest things, the lint found inside pockets of newly washed pants, the quarters lying underneath jeepneys because passengers didn't bother picking up the change that fell out their wallets. Because it's just change.
But I want to change, damnit! I want to be better.
I write because I wish to retrace the events leading to my becoming, steps that are fundamentally necessary to my being but, at the same time, excruciatingly gut-wrenching.
I write because these thoughts running in my head are broken. They represent pieces of what once was whole, but are shattered by a faintest of ideas. Regardless, they're there, scattered and waiting to be cleaned up.
Descartes started from brokenness that was preceded by Occam's Razor, the concept that sliced pre-modern philosophy into a loss. Only when Descartes reasserted his own existence in this broken world that everything made sense.
That's basically what I'm feeling every time I write notes in this personally impersonal journal - it is an affirmation that I'm here, I suck at life, and I want to prove to myself and the world that I don't. Sometimes, the conclusion's a mixed bag. But it's worth a shot.
---
I cannot divulge the specifics, but a particular day that happened this week will haunt me forever. I will never forget the facial expression, the palpable emotion, the words. Oh, the words!
Truth haunts me. They find me even when I taught I've lost them and beat me to a pulp. I'm spineless and left writhing on the floor even though the battle hasn't even begun yet. I do not know what to do next when shit hits the fan.
At that moment, all the flaws were revealed, leaving me naked and shamed by my own insecurities. Pathetic.
Only way to salvation is to actually face the music and just be better. This immediately reminded me of Christina Aguilera's "Beautiful." Not all people are beautiful. Some are fugly, albeit not in the physical kind of way. There are rapists, child molesters, corrupt politicians, deadbeat parents, and dirty brown water trash, to name a few. Are they beautiful? Fuck no.
Note to Christina: you're wrong. This song propagates mediocrity because people should accept who you are - imperfections and all. But let's face it: nobody loves an asshole. In fact, dickwads and jerkoffs are cast away and left to rot along with their kind. To actually be beautiful, you have to earn it, just as the next person should.
So far, I've done the necessary steps to even brush with the notion of beauty. I want to be better, which is why I'm doing these. It's for the people I love, but it's for me, most importantly. I'm tired of hearing the same complaints and having the same shitty reaction that I have when I hear something negative about me. I'm sick of being left out of the loop because I didn't give a shit. I want to matter, I want others to matter, even the smallest things, the lint found inside pockets of newly washed pants, the quarters lying underneath jeepneys because passengers didn't bother picking up the change that fell out their wallets. Because it's just change.
But I want to change, damnit! I want to be better.
Comments
Post a Comment