A State of Flux

One of the things that has bothered me ever since I turned eighteen is self-expectation. I was hoping that at this certain point of my life I’ve become very important. To who? In what context? I don’t know. I was convinced, however, that these blurry expectations were to crystalize into concretion. One thing I often find myself getting sad about is the fact that I’ve never been able to collect all Care Bears, something I promised myself at seven once I started making some big bucks.

I only actually have one — the purple one with the rainbow stomach. And I’m still jobless.

So while I’ve not succeeded in securing even a scrap of my supposed self-actualization (sorry Carl Rogers), I know a few, definite things about myself. I’m a college student in a broken, hopeful country taking up political science in hopes becoming Asia’s Next Top Model or the future president — whichever comes first. I still don’t know what I’m exactly going to do in the next ten years. I like Fleetwood Mac, dark chocolate, magic realism, and food I don’t have to chew. And I’m starving most of time, slaving on cold tasteless tea and high-sodium snacks.

I have recently developed a profound, uneducated interest in life’s greatest and simplest pleasures. Not that I’m exposed to them all the time — that’s what media and 4D cinemas are for. Still, I look forward to a future that allows me to grab food off a computer screen. And that I get to see Klimt’s The Kiss in real life one day.

I love food, art, literature, science, whatever. I’m no theorist, no scholar, no genius — but the appreciation is there. And that should be enough, right? For now. Personal significance — for these associations, and ultimately for myself — is an attractive life-completer. Though I’m quite alright with just getting a little drunk every now and then. And just like many others, I feel as if I’m displaced in the world. I can only catch a glimpse of the fading figures of those running toward something greater, more meaningful. I walk slow, unsure — grateful for each step but unaware of its significance.

Ultimately — and this is the gross part — this blog is an attempt to regain what I’ve lost in my search for the real: the ideal. This world, obsessed with success and perfection, is so vast I don’t know where to fit. That starts with the cliché of knowing thyself.

I’d like to know where to place myself amidst the super intelligent robots and Kardashians.

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