Champagne for my real friends, and real pain for my sham friends.

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Some Things an Introvert Has Realized

I’m an introvert. This doesn’t mean I’m a hermit, but it does mean that I do like to keep to myself occasionally, sometimes frequently. I wish it meant that I always have something profound to say, but sadly, that hasn’t been the case. Lately, I’ve come to embrace this portion of my personality.

Some thoughts below:

Whenever a significant portion of life has ended, say, for instance, the end of a year of college, people tend to look back. Most of the time, people look back and seem to be dazzled by “how much they’ve changed.” I think that’s how it should be. If you look in retrospect, and you haven’t developed in character or been enriched through experiences, that means you have simply had a dull year. I fear the day I look back and complacently say that: “this was just another year. Wasted away.”

People are hardly ever thankful enough. Most favors are never returned, and a crucial portion of sacrifice is letting go of expectations of reciprocation. It’s frustrating, but it’s reality.

I really have no idea where I stand in terms of death. And life, for that matter. Seriously, why in the world are we here? Religion answers that question, but it’s not something I believe in right now. But if not religion, what else is there? Am I really just working and living to build relationships, to live comfortably, to experience emotional euphorias? Everything rusts away into an incredibly dull realm of insignificance if you juxtapose everything you do with the ultimate consequence of death; yet, we continue to all live as if there were no such finish line. What are we all doing here?

Friendship. What does that mean to me? It seems like simple questions like these, ones that every person should be able to answer, always stumps people. Qualities of a true friendship involve loyalty, sacrifice, comfort, fun, and the like. But it means something different to each individual. What does it mean to me? I guess the biggest test of friendship is one composed of vulnerability. How comfortably vulnerable you are to a person is a measure of your friendship.

This world responds either to beauty or function. You either have to look good or you have to perform well to be appreciated in this world. Those fortunate have both.

I’ve realized how important it is to constantly be inspired. When I was stuck in a mental dark cloud, it was inspiration that helped me see that I was being an idiot. Inspiration is difficult to find because its nature implores it to be dynamic. Something constant can’t be inspirational. Inspiration is found through something that finds its way into the inner workings of your mind and disrupts your existence. You know you’ve found inspiration when you start to think in a way you had forgotten to think in. The best place to find inspiration? In people. Because even though they may physically look consistent, people are always changing.

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I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

I don’t feel like talking; I just want to stay quiet.

Human interactions currently don’t interest me, but I am surrounded.

I can’t formulate any intelligible thoughts these days.

How quickly a world can transform…

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It’s amazing how quickly a world can transform before your eyes. Humans really are narrowed in their perspectives; we only can see what we sensually and mentally experience, even if we are only just playing in one big game. Trickery creates an illusion over its victims, enshrouding them in confusion and usually darkness. Though the fake fog may be a facade, to a very large extent, it is a keen reality to those inside. The emotions that come out of physical and mental tests are very, very authentic. I guess it doesn’t matter if stimuli come from false sources, as long as the results are genuine. The things felt during simulated situations still deserve as much merit as in anything else.

A Writer’s Confession

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I dreamt the other day that I was about to die, and it was then that I realized: I’m scared of death.

That may seem like a Captain Obvious statement, but I hadn’t really thought about dying until that dream…or maybe it was a nightmare. The setting in which I was about do die was fantastical: I was inside some crater that dug a hole into the Earth. Everything around me was a crimson brown. Rocks were everywhere.

Some maniac with a laser gun was killing everyone in sight, and I was just standing on the side scared out of my mind. It’s interesting how incredibly authentic emotions feel in dreams. Sometimes it seems as if the feelings in dreams are stronger than they could ever be in real life; yet, everything I feel is in an imaginary setting. Paradoxical, isn’t it? Maybe we’re not supposed to live in reality. Maybe reality isn’t what’s real. Something tells me there’s more to existence than this body and mind of mine.

Totally digressed there. Anyway, whilst being frightened, I closed my eyes and turned to someone. Who? Same person I always turn to when I am pushed to my uttermost limitations: God.

So fuckin’ pitiful. I always turn to God when I need him and barely ever turn to him when things are going well. Sure, sometimes, I say, “thank you God for all of this wonderfulness in my life,” but I don’t know if I even mean it.

Especially because I don’t even know if he exists or not.

So, I’m afraid of death. That was my original point. No time to edit any writing. No time for anything these days.

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I feel as if I am part of a generation that has lost its perspective.

Has it always been that such great emphasis has always been put on things with such little meaning? Have there always been few writers? What ever happened to taking walks?

Damn, it’d be great to take a nice walk with someone who has interesting things to say on a foggy night. That would pretty much be my dream scenario.

Anyway back on topic. All people can talk about these days are the latest things they’ve seen on their newsfeeds or some shit like that. Of course, I’m exaggerating tremendously. But has it always been that conversations were as trivial as the ones of today? Could it ever have been any worse? I doubt it.

I love those tender moments in which people begin to open up to one another. You can feel the tight tension in the air, filled with an intriguing uneasiness. The person talking begins to feel warmer and warmer, as if the words being spoken escapes with all the coldness inside the body. Eye contact is too embarrassing, so the pupils are either focused on the air, on the ground, or on something else they can escape to.

And then, suddenly, the words stop.

There is an abrupt and sometimes awkward eeriness that permeates the room, and the people in the group think their thoughts but withhold their words, in fear of breaking the domineering silence. That is, until one summons the courage to take the initiative and addresses the topic.

Am I making any sense to anyone else besides myself?

Anyway, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I enjoy those moments in which guards are put down, and people begin to realize that they are not the only ones who have problems and insecurities.

Because when you look at the issues people have, in one way or another, you’ve in all likelihood have had them before. We are all very similar as humans, and that’s probably the best reason that judging others is an extremely hypocritical action. To say it clearer, to judge others is in a way to judge yourself as well.

So where am I? What am I rambling about?

I don’t know. I don’t seem to be anywhere.

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So many things once important to me, now have faded away into a remarkably dull realm of insignificance. It’s intriguing and somewhat daunting to realize that all current desires and passions are usually only as significant as they ever will be in the present time in which they are born.

Has there ever been a true constant throughout my life? Besides my immediate family, there hasn’t. And at times, it seemed as if my family was the most distant priority in my life. Eventually, once I have my own wife and my own children, they will become my constant, but they haven’t been thus far, because they simply don’t exist.

Friends have come and gone, sports have been picked up and dropped, love interests have disappeared into disappointments as soon as they have come about, and things that used to matter have been replaced by the new.

Humans are not a species designed for a constant style of living. We’re dynamic; change is all we know and perhaps the only true consistency. Is there anything wrong with this? Not really, I don’t think so. I’m just putting it out there.

Looking back at how much has changed over the past year, I’m completely dazzled. It’s ludicrous how the process of developing (as well as decaying) is such a gradual process, but when looking back in retrospect, it’s like the person of my past was a completely separate individual that has calmly, furtively, cunningly split apart from me. As if it had never had wanted anything to do with me, but has regardless contributed to my growth.

And it confirms this truth: maturity is the ability to listen to future versions of yourself.