Irrelevant

DECEMBER 9, 2010 2:27 AM

I think I want a separate page for all this complaining I'm doing. So it's not out in public, and people can avoid the irrelevant tab.

Reading over my last blog post, I think the way I talk reflects how I live. I honestly have no idea what I'm doing right now. I just know I'm supposed to go to college. And when I look at the college apps, they're overwhelming. What major? What's your goal? Why ________? Why that major? What are you going to do to change the world?

What the hell?

I don't know. Why should I know? Everyone tells me the joy in life comes from the things led from passion. Well guess what? I don't know what I like. I don't know if i like science or if I dreamed of becoming a doctor because my mom had a "future career" talk with me when I was frickin' seven years old. I don't know if doing what I like is a smart choice, because I suck at the things I enjoy doing. I don't know what I want to major in. Why the hell does it make someone better to know? Why the hell do I need to know right now? Like the endless words, I can't figure anything out, my opinions are completely incoherent, and the only thing that's helping me function is this whole, "follow the pattern" deal. But really? It sucks.

And if I weren't so lame at getting things done, I supposed I would have screwed the stupid pattern years ago. If I weren't an insomniac incapable of living wisely, I wouldn't bother with routine. I don't like doing the same thing everyday. I don't like the fact that I have freaking dreams about waking up in the morning and getting ready for school. How deeply ingrained is this whole process? My life is revolving around a pattern. I guess sometimes it's convenient. When I feel like not thinking. But when I do want to think, it interferes with everything. It's everywhere.  I can't get rid of it, and it's stressing me out. I enjoyed the times when I was five, when the summer felt ridiculously long, and everyday the hours seemed to stretch out in endless randomness.

But that would be selfish, wouldn't it. i guess everyone has responsibilities. the world wouldn't run if we all went for randomness. I suppose it's part of life for everyone to take on things that they hate.

Even so, those last four sentences are telling me that the Pattern is taking over my head again.

JANUARY 17, 2011 9:15 PM

 I've been feeling....quite bipolar lately. Not bipolar in the normal sense, but in the sense that I feel conflicted about feeling incredibly happy and incredibly sad. I am in between. Not neutral, but unsure of how to feel, rallying from one side to another.

I'm selfish. I do not appreciate the things I have in life. There are times I feel infinitely fortunate for being who I am, living in the conditions I live in. I should be thankful I was born into a relatively wealthy family, where I can get the things I want, where I actually manage to feel ashamed when I arrive at school in a Porsche. Where i don't struggle, ever, for food, water, or shelter. What more could I ask for? Where does my greed end?

I'm even lucky enough to have a few people I consider true friends--people I can trust completely, people I can depend on, people I relate to, people I feel completely comfortable confiding in. My mom once told me it's considered success if a person manages to find even one true friend. Rare, precious success. I have four people I currently consider true friends. Two of whom I am absolutely sure are true friends--brothers, really. The two others also mean a lot to me, sisters. So I have been fortunate enough to have succeeded four times, already, at the age of seventeen. And from my life experience (whatever seventeen years is worth), true friends really are precious pearls--beautiful, delicate stars.

Realizing I have such true friends has made me extremely happy these last few days. Days at the moviews and dinners out have made my mind open to how fresh the air is outside at night, how bright the lights are. Everything sounds louder, everything looks sharper.

So what the hell am I dissatisfied about? Where, indeed, does my greed end?

I finished the last episode of Secret Garden today. As expected, it was a fairytale ending. Again, as after every episode, or book, or movie, I thought, I would give everything to have a life like that. I would give everything to be struggling for years in a harsh life, only to be saved eventually, and absolutely sure that I've met my true love, someone i can trust with my heart for the rest of my life. For a few minutes, I live vicariously through these stories, these fictions. But when it's all over, I'm left with the echoes of laughter, shadows of absolute joy, a small breeze from the world of wishful thinking. I keep listening to the OST of Secret Garden, trying to re-immerse myself into a world where two people are willing and able to make the ultimate sacrifice unflinchingly for each other, but then I'm reminded that life doesn't have a sound track. Life has little adventure. It has no magic. There is no such thing as true love.

I admire the characters I see in the dramas, but then I realize they are not real. The actors are probably very different from the people they pretend to be. They don't struggle in poverty. They buy designer clothes and attend fancy award ceremonies. They are the rich and famous faces of the nation. Real people struggling to live are not nearly as beautiful, witty, or trustworthy as the characters the actors portray.

The older I grow, the more necessary it's becoming for me to rip my fiction world apart. Soon, I will need to burn it and lock away the ashes. And with them, I will have murdered the selfish, unappreciative, but hopeful and dream-filled half of myself.