[This post might be written under the influence of mood swings. It might not be representative of who I am most of the time. It might be.]
And Sunday is the day (It feels so distant and I nearly forgot about it until someone mentioned) where I’m one year nearer to the grave, I approach this day with the appropriate graveness and solemnity. Well, I wish I were doing that, but no.
At least that’s a kind of feeling, no matter how perverse it is. My current state of mind would be what my mom will call ‘aging’. Well that was last year where I still did that silly thing, telling everyone I’m ’14 going on 15′ and feeling a little too glad to be quiet about how I always seem older both in the virtual and real world. Now? Umm, I don’t care. I feel like one of those working folks like my parents who treat their birth dates like any others— Bad. Bad, not really, but its another day to stone inside while I laugh along with people who care about me and seem to care about me. (Both groups don’t make a difference so long as the latter don’t hint at that possibility.)
I suppose I need to put up an act because people care about it and they expect me to care about it too, because I’m age-wise, a teenager in a society like this. Well, funny. (Based on WordPress’ excessive featuring of Miley’s birthday) Miley is celebrating her 16th too. I don’t think she’ll ever grow up though, no matter how many candles she blows for the rest of her life. Her birthday would be my worst nightmare. But I’m do not disapprove of her. I’m sick of her, like I’m sick of everyone else.
The passive kind of sick where I’m a mute and illiterate armchair critic. (In short, whatever, you suck, but I don’t care about you.)
Um, but I must say that I do appreciate people giving me things, bringing me to special places to celebrate for my birthday because that’s the way (I believe) they show that they care or seem to care for me, although that might not be the way I really want them to demonstrate it. Sometimes, people would do better to leave me to my own devices. But since their intent is well meant, I do appreciate them.
I used to hate 2 of the very important people in my life because like most every other people my age, I think they don’t understand me. Well actually, I still think they don’t. But do they really need to do so? I know that their intents are good, but their actions are often deemed inappropriate to me. But now, I accepted it, not because I finally ‘understood’. But its because, what else can I do about those? Change them? Well, I prefer people to be their own persons. Don’t get me wrong. I’m totally willing in my submission, as with everything else. I know how important they are and I appreciate them. I love them.
And I’m no longer in a fantasy. My MBTI change would explain that best (I’m INTJ now. The reason is in the TJ.) but that’s too much of a brain-dead explanation— that’s more like an indicator. I find that I have a hard time committing myself to writing literature. I still can write, I can write better than the past but the motivation is gone and it’ll probably never or take some time to come back. I find myself unable to feel any regret for it. I don’t look back, my new outlook which sprang out of nowhere does not allow that. I probably know that nothing could be done to it unless I become an F again— no way. And photography, I have long lost the passion, but I can still take photos, in fact better ones.
I now know that (at least for me), the best way to deal with people and myself is to be frank, even if the fact is hard to swallow— just offer a glass of water along with that. I fully practice that and I feel much more in control. I’m no longer depressed and probably will never be (at least not for the same damn reason). I’m off people. That’s primarily for convenience. I don’t know if selective amnesia is possible but I’ve forgotten chunks of the year before and the year before the year before whereas memories of vivid events of the time from when I was 2 or 3 still exists as before.
I’ve ditched journalism as an occupation. Its impractical and I can’t forsee myself being one of those. And provided that the passion’s lost, there’s no point doing it anymore. It’s a wasted occupation as well (I judge it as one, maybe I should be more careful with my words and elaborate but I have no energy for those so please refrain from picking at certain words and phrases of mine). Its too insignificant for me to make something out of it. It’s the wrong field.
I made up my mind during a career talk in school. So there I go, I’m back to pursuing law. Not because of the money (that’s a very small part of it). But its because of the perverse gene (surprisingly not inherited from anyone else) in me which digs perverse working hours and perverse stress levels and digs cleaning up screwd up situations.
So there I go, damn, I’ve went a full circle and got back where I started, a thousand feet higher. That’s my crash course to life, basically teaching me how to accept who I am and whatever I had wanted to be might not be as great as I think. It sucked, really sucked, really, really sucked but *gulps* I feel a little triumphant. Ah, at least I’m feeling that 😀
But I feel a little weird. Its like I’ve just climbed to the peak of Mount Everest and no one caught it. Meanwhile, I’m trying to persuade myself that no one needs to see it while you peek on.
(Grah, this was supposed to be a 2 or 3 paragraphed entry. And hmm, wow it’s a relatively happy ending.)
I’m probably more like a dead person than a triumphant one. O, the joyous days of childhood! I can never see myself laughing or smiling the same again. But is that a cause of regret? If it is, what can regret do to help? Do you even want to be ‘helped’? Are you sure that’s a better course of action?
Oh, shut up.