Thursday, May 28, 2015

“You have to die a few times before you can really live.” — Charles Bukowski

this is fucken real i cant even

Breathe in, Breathe out

It's been a while since I've written here. I want you to know it's not for the lack of fucks I give. Because generally in life I seem to not give a fuck, but if there is anything I do care about, it's writing. I just haven't been brave enough to try this for a while. Which I don't understand because as soon as I start, words just flow.
I guess it had more to do with my state of being than with my skills as a writer. This is a personal blog, I speak my mind here. But my mind has been so all over the place in the recent past. You might notice the title of my blog changed from "Unravel the fickle mind" to what it is currently. And that is because I've recently been trying to accept myself for who I am. For that is of utmost importance.
This blog started as the rantings of a typical teen drama queen. And I'm none of those things anymore. I'm not your relatable-high-school-musical-girl-next-door. I'm not sure who I am anymore. It's funny how I thought I'd have my life figured out by now but I'm just growing more confused with each passing day.
For one, I can't grasp my head around the concept of time. It's been 6 years since I finished 10th grade. It's been 4 years since I turned 18. My friends went to college and graduated and came back. 2000 is as far away is 2030. And nothing from The Jetsons is real yet. And I'm vaguely disappointed in the state of the world.
But I've also come to terms with the fact that this is life. This is the world we live in. The only place that can (to our knowledge) sustain human life. So, I mean, we don't really got any options here.
We're stuck in his corrupt and capitalist world to struggle to find happiness. And I don't care about what they say, money can buy happiness.
But to get money you need a job and to get a job you need ambition and for ambition you need to give some fucks which brings us back to where I started.
I realize that I really have to start caring. And try.
For starters, I'm going to write more. Who cares if it's trash? I like how it feels.