noise isn’t (too) noisy coming from her
I’ve always been a black or white kind of dude. All-or-nothing. People (myself included) are either entirely right or absolutely wrong.
Maybe it’s because I feel as if I messed up and wasted so much time in the past: I’ve become obsessed with living an optimal life from here on. Which means pruning things that I consider to have a suboptimal effect on my life. Results? Sure, I’ve become more productive. But I feel… less human. I feel like whenever I try to enjoy the passing moments of life, the automaton inside reminds me that slowing down is not an option. Optimality leaves no breathing room.
I’m deathly afraid of regression. More than spiders, more than watching my friends fall to their deaths from great heights, and perhaps even more than death. At least death puts an end to it; life filled with regression means all the while I thought I was moving forward, I was merely wasting away backwards.
Rip and peel me back
Thought I was the fruit inside
Tossed; I was so wrong
At what point will I be okay with who I am? Blood rushes to my face whenever someone looks at me with incredulity. If someone does not understand me → I must have said/done something stupid → But isn’t that just who I am? → I’ve failed to please this person → What’s wrong with me?
I dunno man.
When I’m studying, I hate noise. The only noise that I permit comes in the form of several study playlists I handcrafted myself for my own picky, sensitive ears. It’s always been like that. I get all fidgety or frustrated otherwise. Can’t concentrate. Can’t do life.
Nowadays, however, I wonder if I’m beginning to hate noise.
Even when I’m not studying.
Whenever I see a kid smile, I can’t help but smile too. Something inside me earnestly desires for that kid to retain that smile for as long as possible.
I’m a bad friend. But then again, what does it even mean to be a good one?
Am I complicated? I’ve been told that I was by several people this year. But I guess I don’t blame them. I’ve been mad trippin for 22 out of my past 22 years. Who knows what I am.
I wish I could stop time for just 1 day. Give me 1 day. I would carry myself up and away from all electronics, all people. Grab like three Murakami novels real quick (one of which has to be Norwegian Wood). Fresh cup of black coffee (when I ask for no room, please actually fill it up all the way). And of course, get me that Chipotle bowl with double steak and guac.
I’ll be freakin set.
But going back to thought no. 2, I don’t have a full day to spend like that. There are more pressing matters to attend to right now. But a man can dream.
I recently met someone who has etched tiny white strokes on things that I thought to have irrevocably coated in black. This person makes me wonder.
Perhaps being right or wrong isn’t necessarily the appropriate question to ask all the time.
Perhaps not everything is meant to be done with optimality in mind; that it’s okay to slow down and enjoy life at times.
Perhaps there is something to gain in moving backwards at times; there’s learning to be acquired even if I’m not moving forward.
Perhaps people can love me even if they do not fully understand me; therefore is it okay for me to love the incomprehensible, insufferable person that I am?
Perhaps noise isn’t (too) noisy coming from her.