[20230505]

 Currently listening to Big Star by Lorde, and it is 2:22 a.m.

    I feel disappointed for many reasons. My life has gone astray, so much more than I thought it had during my down moments before stepping foot in this city. 

It has been four months of my being here. So much has certainly happened, and as much as I've wanted to keep track of it all, I was too conscious of living in the present. This is what I wanted, anyway. I remember writing a journal entry about it, living in the present. It always seemed I was behind or too forward. I have been at the present, finally. Now, perhaps out of routine, I resent it. Whenever we get what we want, something always takes the fulfillment away from us. "There's always something," I recall both main leads saying in the second episode of the Netflix show, Beef. (Great show, by the way. Finished it in a day despite my looming school deadlines.)

There's always something.

 I finally revisited this blog--never forgotten, just long put aside. It's not only because I've been busy, but perhaps I couldn't handle the thought of managing something again. It's not like I have been managing it well, but added responsibility seems to freak me out. 

So many thoughts conspire against me, waiting to be written down and made sense of. So much to unpack, so little time. Actually, there is time. There is time. There is always time, though it gets wasted on the most useless things. I hate social media for this reason, though I know it's not at fault. I am. [Now listening to Seventeen by Sharon Van Etten. It's crazy how next month I'll be of legal age. I don't suppose I'll be able to process it, would take another four years to do so -- though I am not manifesting it.]

I am bridled with so many troubles and disappointments, have I mentioned it? Generally, yes, specifically, just you wait. Wait -- a key theme to every trouble. Waiting is good, but too much has been bothersome. I'm disappointed about not having written down my thoughts while I was in Myanmar. I knew this back when I was still there too. My assumption of the root of this trouble has come from learning I must capitalize on every experience and turn it into something grand. Can't an experience simply...be? Is that not the entire point of experiencing? I've realized that recently from living in the present. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be all along. I keep punishing myself for what my past self had wished for. I think of how my past self set my present self for disaster -- but just like the misunderstood characters, wasn't I just allowing myself to live? Was it not more fulfilling to be in the moment, spending time with people who I will grow apart from in the nearing deadline of senior high school? I believe it is, though I can't fully admit to it. I'm disappointed mostly because of the college application results season. I've always wished to apply to as many colleges, but right when the time came, I couldn't. Not because I can't, but because I can't. That is not a typo (for my future self to remember), I can't because of everything internally, not externally. I'm afraid in the near future when this might be a hoax, a coverup to my apparent failure. What if it has all been me this entire time, and there has been nothing else? I'm afraid of this, perhaps a reason as to why I fear getting checked. Mostly, I do want to, though. I'm certain there is something. There's always something.

Listening to Mitski's Old Friend now. I feel so many things, I know I ought to live an artistic life. I may not be skilled in the visual arts, but I know I am a creative person. I belong to the world of artistry. I belong here. I know it, but I hope God knows too. Please God, I just want to be something great. I have all this passion, but I'm afraid passion won't get me anywhere far with a screaming internal monologue. Constantly, it chokes my words and twists my intentions. Even as I write this, it tries to tell me I'm in the wrong, and maybe I am.

    I thank technology for digital media. I thank it for the good media I get to consume, which in turn inspires me to create. I love artists. Right now, my obsession is with Boygenius and their new record entitled, "the record". I love the opening track, especially. I've had obsessions over Mitski, an everlasting one for Taylor Swift, Lorde, Phoebe Bridgers, and now boygenius, a band with Phoebe Bridgers in it too. I love the arts. I'd like to mention many things that happened in March until April, but the heftiness just can't let me survive. And I'd still have to finish my Creative Nonfiction project. I'm trying to write a Literary Journalism piece on my friend's experience being touched by blue-collared men. I call it "Little Lady in the Palms of Blue-Collared Men". I think the title is nice. I hope the final output comes great too. I believe in my abilities. I really hope any of the things I make at this age turn into something great in the near future. I'm trying my best to use my supposed genius to use. Its functionality appears and reappears but I hope whenever it comes back, it lets me make great things that people would appreciate, and most especially, what I would appreciate. In April, I had written several poems for a crush. It was an amazing era, certainly. I had to experience that release of emotion through creating all that poetry, and none of it ever reached them. It was exhilarating, and I would do it again. The best part of it all was how it all died down as quickly as the burst of liking came forth. No closure had to be done, as I knew it was going to ebb eventually. There was nothing much to hold onto anyway. I would go into detail all about it, but I've narrated these events to my friend already, many of them actually, and I'm tired of repeating a story where my emotions have already been buried deep to rest. I might rekindle them once I need to, such as in finishing the memoir I wrote about it. That was another one of my disappointments: not finishing written pieces, always thinking there would be time to relive it later. The truth is, there is, but it will never be as fresh and authentic as I would write it while it was new. It is unfortunate. I'm supposing this is exactly what happens to countless stories worthy of being told. They never tell it for the sole reason that it is easier to let it pass by. Or, simply because they could not find any means to keep it alive if not through pictures. Maybe this is my arc of abandoning Instagram, to let words speak stories as they should be told. 

After saying that last line, my mind moves toward my recent crush. Before that, I'd just like to mention how I've made two songs now. One for my crush last year, and another for my March 2023 crush. I think this is healthy. I might make another one for this current if we ever escalate into talking face-to-face. We have, but only for a photo. It couldn't even be called a talk. Anyway, why my mind moves toward him, is because he's a photographer. And debating that stories should be told through words, would strike him, I suppose, as their aim would be the opposite of my advocacy. To tell stories through a click of the camera. 

Now that I have begun to write about this one crush, I'm thinking about how I could actually live like this as an artist, though there would always be a longing to experience something more. Before getting there, I would have to confine myself to the challenge of creating songs as detailed as I can with the information I get from afar, in limited interaction.

A new thought. I don't know if it's just me or if my brain is warning me the truth: everyone secretly hates me. That sounds fake, but the possibility is never zero. Well, not everyone would hate me, but secretly I irk them, thus the stares and how they greet me when they see me. Maybe it's just me. I think of a mutual friend who hugged me earlier, who is also friends with my current crush. She's friendly, I only knew they were friends upon seeing a photo of them eating in a Korean grill with a bunch of other people. 

I think I should sleep, but at this point, should I still really? It is already 3:08 a.m. Ywanah certainly is an inspiration to me in regaining the passion to write in this blog. She expressed how much she wanted a domain, and I saw myself in her because I used to want that once too. Now that I have it, I've abandoned the hobby entirely. I'd like to return to these silly hobbies, because not only do they make me interesting, but I believe they are necessary to stay sane. I also would really like to establish something secret, but not too secret. I like it here, and I feel like I've gone past the stage of being shy of what I write. I am aware that people will be reading my writings, but I'm never as scared anymore, unlike how I once was when I would deliberately restrict information for the sake that people would not know things I would have wanted to remember.

Recently, I've been forgetting things like the specific instances when I've added or followed back Instagram accounts. Their account profiles appear on my stories list, and I get so confused. It's as if I do things in my sleep, or that I have merely forgotten. There is certainly something about that, and I'm afraid if it escalates into something more severe. Maybe if I'm so scared, I should sleep. Maybe I'll do exactly that right now, though I was actually planning not to anymore. I'll sleep for an hour and thirty minutes perhaps. Good night. It was nice catching up, though it is pretty much all over the place. I wish I could organize this, but that would only leave me disappointed in the future again, not having published something that was enough. This is enough. I shall rest, good bye. See you soon, hopefully.