I am a sad mirror. Things happen to me. Then I reflect them, sadly.
I was just listening to Change Your Mind by Said the Sky.
It is a heartbreak song, like all of the other songs that I listen to.
It is a song… about longing… for the past… that is not there… anymore.
What music do people listen when they get older?
I’m eating on my bed right now. My parents never told me to not eat on my bed as a kid, but I never did because I read in children’s stories that I shouldn’t. But I’m an adult now. Children’s stories have no power over me.
I’m so sad. I’m so tired. I’m sad, and when I am sad, I generally write, but, right now, I am so tired, and I am so tired that I cannot write, so I am at a weird state, when I am simultaneously sad and unable to write because, when I am sad, I generally write, but, because I am tired, I cannot write, so I am in a state where I am sad but unable to dispel my sadness because I am tired and that makes me extra sad because I am unable to dispel my existing sadness because I am tired.
While doing my readings for the last essay this past semester, I came across this quote in Melancholy Experience in Literature of the Long Eighteenth Century by Allen Ingram:
What is melancholy? Deep down, it seems to me, it is a hope at once always being reborn and endlessly disappointed: but less a true desire for a ‘true life’ than the lack in this desire of a real need to attain satisfaction. The song of the bird is heard, in its ‘elsewhere’. You set off towards it, with a map you think you have, and think you like to have. In your mind there is an idea of the place in which you could live and the way you would live there, but this idea is already spelt out, put into words, a conceptual thought, already a simple image and not the actual presence, and it follows that these paths turn, and turn back on themselves, and the person who has taken them has to acknowledge his illusion, an illusion he may well prefer to the ‘over there’ that he cannot get back to.Yves Bonnefoy, La mélancolie, la folie, le génie – la poésie
On Saturday night, the sky was sad. Or I was sad. Sometimes, or most of the time, I am unable to tell the difference. Friends are there. Friends are not there. Friends are not there. It seems more normal than not to question the validity of friendships. What is there? What is not there? How could I be certain anything I feel is real, if the feeling is real at all?
I have learned a lot of lessons of gratitude over the past couple of years. I am grateful for what I am given, at least I think I am. But, regarding the neverending waves that follow, how could I remain stationary when I am constantly being propelled backward towards oblivion?
Even my mere past is a state of regret. How could I regress when regression means falling back towards the same state of ignorant suffering that I have been trying to avoid for all my life.
So often when I eat now, I realize how substanceless I am. Food comes in, and I feel nothing. Most of the time, I would just stop eating because there would be no point in doing so. But, when I am out with other people, I have the compulsion to at least eat what I paid for. In terms of the food itself, however, it falls into nothing, and there’s nothing I could do about it.
Sometimes, when I feel ready to make friends, I reach out to people. But, it seems I have reached a point in my life where there is no point in reaching out to anyone anymore. It is the same, and if there has been a friendship destined to happen, then it will happen regardless of whether not I will it to existence. I have so little power in that regard. It constantly feels as if there is no room for me to challenge the universe. After all, I am tiny, and the universe is large. I am not worthy to challenge the immensity of the universe, and I have never been entitled enough to think so. I just have the things that were bestowed upon me, and that is the extent of my existence. There is nothing that I deserve to have beyond what has been given to me by the universe. So, the act of wanting is an injustice to this philosophy itself. What is the point of wanting anything if I do not deserve to want anything in the world? I have been given all that I have been given, and it would be a sin to ask for more than what I have been given. That is the thought that has been guiding me. So, the question is, why do I want anything at all, if I already know that I do not deserve to want anything? I suppose that is the nature of want: to want what you cannot have.
Tiny. So tiny. So sad. The world is so tiny, so sad. So immense is the world. So sad. Beyond what is there, is there anything worth living for? Contradictory sentiment.
There is so little that matters. No matter how many experiences I seem to fill my life with, there seems so little point in doing so when I cannot share these experiences. It’s quite contradictory, really. The formation of identity comes exclusively through the presence of others. When I am by myself, there is no identity being formed. All that there is the reflection of experiences that I have shared with others. Life, lived in the absence of others, has no point. And so, what I am doing attempting to live my life in the absence of others? Why do I even try to do so?
I feel so tired right now. It’s quite a reversal of earlier in the semester when I was stressed and had no time. Now, I do have time; I just don’t have the energy to do anything with my time.
This essay that I am writing right now… I just don’t want to do it. It’s a subject that had interested me for so long. Yet, here I am, finally with the time to pursue it, and I no longer want to. It’s a sad moment.
I had a dream yesterday, where I bumped into a girl with whom I had a falling out with a couple of years ago. In this dream, we were just talking, as if the fallout had never happened. It was such a pleasant experience — a space where I was able to feel the same closeness of finding someone similar to me before the complexities of identity formation have negated my ability to make connections with others. I don’t remember the specifics to be honest, as per the nature of dreams. I think we were just in a classroom, studying together, and talking about our lives. It was a moment that I never quite appreciated during my earlier years in college — how a complete lack of personality makes forming connections so much easier. It was such a pleasant dream.