#PersonalWriting

[brooding-vamp]

Thrill to Becoming Nothing

April 14, 2024

There is nothing in my day-to-day life that excites me beyond my cup of tea and evening sandwich. I live due to my endurance; my goals sustain me rather well, but my daily life externally does not provoke much. Good grades, success in my academic clubs and military career, money, self-confidence. Men don’t even interest me anymore, and they have not for some time now. All I care about is the furtherment of my goals and my health. I have friends because self-expression, kindness, feeling included, and bonding is healthy for the body, mind, soul. I look for people better than me… more disciplined than me. Otherwise, I guess I am tired. I have little else to say out loud this week.

Why do I feel thrill-less despite what is going well for me? I am content that at least my ambition in life is no longer centered on romantic pursuits. That usually leaves me stripped of everything important to me.

Nietzsche: Maybe I feel empty of without excitement because I have not yet found the values that deeply resonate with me and that would infuse meaning into my accomplishments.

Ayn Rand: Maybe I feel dull because I am not fully pursuing my own rational self-interest and instead sacrificing tiny parts of myself for the sake of others or society. Maybe I don’t treat happiness as if it is my highest moral purpose, and I am not fully asserting my own desires, goals, and values in order to feel fulfilled.

To infuse my life with the substance that makes life feel fulfilling, I would need to become more committed toward living according to my own values and goals. My own inner sense of right and not right.

Both approaches suggest increasing my power over my life and self.

I am good but not great. I want to do great things and learn to enjoy them as I do them… like the quote about the journey is the reason, not the destination. I want to go beyond sex when it comes to motivation... Something higher than instinct (though instinct is still useful and good). I want to feel excited and fulfilled. No mediocrity. No weak moralities. No sensitive constitutions. No distraction. No fat easiness. To strive for a higher form of motivation rooted in self-awareness, creativity, and self-overcoming.

My only fear, the fear that holds me back from so much, is the uncertainty of how far I might go. Where does power or intimacy end? It doesn’t. How can one possibly go about capping how much I want, need, require? Nietzsche suggests that the rare characteristics of today that makes one ill in today’s modern age were common virtues of another age that were useful or necessary for success. My endless thirst would be one of them. That is why I love money and horde a lot. It is something that does not have a cap. Power, love, intimacy, writing, artwork, self-expression. How far can I go? How badly do I want to know, or do I fear what others will see more? Running… how far could you go, Niamh? Maybe that is what made it so thrilling for you once upon a time. My extremism, my edgy art, my pathos, my strange sense of style. To feel this way is to be human in our truest form. Those who see my form and are not scared, maybe they are akin in this feeling.

[wiltedforgetmenots]

Sometimes, I wish I could turn into stone. Would I find peace then? Would my heart finally grow still if it were made of stone? Or would the wretched thing still keep beating? How I hate the sound of it.

Or if I were just a bird—would I gain the freedom I've always dreamed of? Would I be happy? Does happiness even mean anything to a bird?

If I were a bear, would I be strong enough to keep living? Would I be content just wandering through the forest, listening to the sound of the river? Or would I still dream of another existence when I looked at the moon?

I gaze at the horizon when there’s mist in the air. It looks so peaceful. For a split second, I forget my existence. I want to walk into the mist and stay there—to walk into nothingness, to become nothing.

Mountaintops, covered in snow and trees—oh, how I adore them: the snow, the trees. I wish to be with them. I wish to be them. What a simple existence—serene. Trees, unchanging; snow, cold, just water—a matter ever-changing, yet still the same.

I know it doesn’t matter as long as I have this soul of mine. I know she is the one who yearns. My heart and brain are nothing but pieces of flesh and blood. It is the ghost within me that keeps the fire burning.

My dear soul: calm as a stone, free as a bird, strong as a bear, cold as snow, lonely as a tree. You don’t belong here, dear soul. My body is rotting around you, and you know it. You keep my heart beating because you’re not ready to give up. And still, you make my mind wander. You know we do not belong here. But no—not giving up yet.

You’re like a mother bird, always hatching eggs filled with sickly little birds. You call them hope. But do you know what I do with them? I learned it from my father, you see. When he found a bird with a broken wing, he snapped its neck and fed it to the cat. I do the same. I feed the beast within me with those frail, sickly attempts called hope.

Isn’t it enough, my dear soul? Aren’t you tired of existing? I will not let even a single one of those hatchlings become a phoenix. I refuse to let myself burn over and over again. Once I burn, I will be nothing but ashes—nothing more, no rebirth.

[charlesangels03]

;

dear max, it's been a while. we've missed you. all of us do, especially those closest to you. we may not be close, but i do wish, we spent more time together. i was intimidated by you during first year. even during the first days of second year. haha. but you were really cool. you had a cool style and fashion sense. you had cool music taste, even if it's mostly hip-hop. but our first interaction was you asking if i was the guy whose profile picture was Bring Me The Horizon's album cover of "That's The Spirit," that's when i knew you were really cool.

i mostly regretted that we didn't get more time to bond together. now, my fondest and only memory with you would be our time during our art app's Tula-Dula. boy, you did well as Padre Damsi. Hahaha. i just thought there's more to come after that. i miss you, man. after my grandmother's death last july 2023, you were the next person to die. being indifferent to the death's others, you, my grandmother, and dad were the ones i cared about. it hits different.

but the world doesn't care and will continue to revolve. maybe, we'll meet again in another universe. and we'll get to spend more time together... and be good friends. i don't know if you see me out there but yeah, if you're out there, by the way, i hope you're seating in a throne. i think you love BMTH's "Throne" (heh suits you , legend). i may not be the best person in the world. i fail and i stand up. i have my own flaws. i am trying to live life while broken, but i hope you're proud, my friend. you're proud of us. you're proud of our block. proud of fean, devvy, elcer, charles, blair, queenie, nash, gary, jeal, alethea... our batch. may we survive this program and graduate in your memory. may we continue looking towards green fields.

much love and memory; lij

Elijah's 11th blogging entry: Personal Writing 💛🪻🌻

[randomishz]

Limerence

The state of being infatuated or obsessed with another person, typically experienced involuntarily and characterized by a strong desire for reciprocation of one's feelings but not primarily for a sexual relationship. Below are the three articles that uses the word "limerence" creatively.

By Marina O. Villegas I October 2024

[sunnyanddumb98]

The day I moved to Santiago, my sister was diagnosed with HPV 16. I’ve seen her cry before, but this time she was broken, convinced beyond any reassurance that she’d never have kids again. What was supposed to be a big change for me suddenly became all about her. I dropped my things and cooked dinner, but the new place, the new city, the new world—everything was in the back of my mind. I guess that’s how change works. You keep going, and maybe in a month or six, it’ll hit me: those beach days feel so far away, like another life altogether by then Fernanda will be either just fine or in treatment and will be my time to move again and cook dinner in a whole new place.

[thoughtsicouldntsend]

1st Day of Thinking Her

I was willing to stay, but your silence told me to leave. You're too beautiful for words, and maybe I was just an uninvited presence in your life - someone who never truly deserved you.

[inka-is-a-stinka]

Me rn because despite all the terrible, awful, shit he's been through, his favorite color is still yellow

[undergroundarling]

Part of April, May, June, July and August: A summary of getting high on life.

I’ve been meaning to write nonstop about everything, but for one reason or the other I couldn’t get past any of the simplistic thoughts I created on the daily. My muse drives on failure, or the negative feelings I often stumble upon. I always come back when misery runs me over and leaves me gasping for air over the concrete. It would be disingenuous to paint my life as this constant pain and struggle to find a scrap of happiness. In May and June I felt the most alive I have ever felt, my body fueled by joy and the adrenaline I’ve been craving my entire life. I was floating through life, gravity didn’t apply to me, I wasn’t like the rest of the mortals, my feet couldn’t touch the floor, my body was as light as a feather and my dancing hair exuded floral smell day and night. I became gentle, my words, touch and gaze were as soft as a bed made of daisy petals. I was full of tenderness, couldn’t get any higher. I was constantly running from one place to the other: bus, train, subway, work, subway, workshop, train, home and repeat. I was in love with the turbulence of my little dreamy life.

From April to June I was attending a filmmaking workshop, met tons of talented people, the best teachers I ever had, got to be part of the creative process of multiple short films. I acted in a few, helped with the clapperboard in others, assisted and wrote some improvised dialogues and finally saw myself on a screen for the first time. Made incredible friends with whom I was able to have conversations, I only had with myself and my reflection. I also connected with others in a more superficial way but still important. Everyone was so passionate it made my soul vibrate to the rhythm of the cadence of their words falling from their lips. I didn't take long to realized I had found my people.

In one of the short films I played a deranged character, someone who gets crazy over a carpet and makes a full blown scandal. Very on brand if you know me. In another one I played a chainsmoker late teen who breaks a boy’s heart while wearing a vintage leather jacket with a shirt of The Smiths. At the end of the workshop I got to play a little role in another short film. I danced around with extras and then said one line. It was the best one we made. Everything was perfect to my eyes, from the lights to the camera’s movement to all the kids acting and setting the beautiful tone. At that exact moment I knew I wanted to feel like that for the rest of my life. I reassured myself “this is my path and I shall not derail from it.”

That day I met someone and developed an innocent crush, I don’t have much to say about it. Hang in there, there's a chance I'll become delusional or maybe this is my first time falling in love. Either way it will be interesting. (October’s correction: nothing happened and I think I’m no longer interested)

In the midst of it, more precisely in May I found a job after months of searching, I became a salesman for Chevrolet, it wasn’t what I wanted or even something I would enjoy but it was better than nothing. In the beginning I tried to avoid the obvious conflict of interests this job had on me. On one hand I had a book on the climate crisis and on the other I had a speech designed to convince people to keep on burning oil. I decided to play the part and do as I was told, to not rationalize it that much and take the money I needed. Turns out I’m great at convincing people to buy a car. Who would have thought? Not me or anyone who knows me. Everything was perfect, I was good at my job and the workshop was beyond everything I ever expected. 

It was in July, when sickness came around to remind me how much of a human I am. Days in bed flying in fever were the sign life was turning on me. The workshop had ended, there was nothing to be excited about, and now my body was suffering the withdrawal of the adrenaline creativity carries with it. I couldn’t sustain that elevated state and I fell to the ground, my hair didn’t smell like flowers and couldn’t dance with the wind, it was a brown mess, my body felt stiff and heavy as a piece of marble, and my words, touch and gaze went back to their furious state. I went through life raising fire in my surroundings , fighting, screaming and hysterically crying. It was then, when everything was painted red, that I remembered I used to have convictions and principles I was actively betraying everyday by going to work for a multinational that profits from the destruction of the planet and the end of humanity. I was part of the problem that not so long ago I was so passionately talking and warning people about. 

There was nothing able to calm me, my bed felt like it was made of thorns and my brain didn’t have a night of decent rest. Each night when the moonlight shined in my face I wondered: “Am I heading to eternal destruction?” I emphasize on the concept of eternal, because I can only hurt myself so much while still alive, but I can perpetuate the hurting with these words I’m writing beyond my last heartbeat. Will my soul keep on being torture every time someone reads the past and paints me in their head as this crying kid? I hope not. Either way July was the cruelest month. 

Now it’s the end of August and the workshop began again. I’m trying to reconnect to the original feeling without frustrating myself. I also shot a music video of someone I met while shooting one of the short films I mentioned before. He looks and sounds like a character that escaped the pits of my mind. I hope he can stick around and become part of my life. On a personal level I’m transitioning from cynical to delicate, I'm caressing the edges of my personality until they become softer to the touch. I'm filtering my words and choosing peace even in the cadence of my speech. I’m becoming more rational and patient with myself and surroundings, turning my back to envy and fury. I still cry, but not out of rage, rather sadness and logical frustration. I cried in front of others for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t humiliating, I felt validated and supported. I hope by the time we arrive in September spring also flourishes inside of me.

[qynthorielle]

Butterflies are beautiful creatures. Delicate, light, free. But it doesn’t take much to ruin them: touch their wings too roughly, and they can no longer fly.

I was like that. A butterfly, right in the middle of my awakening. I had just learned to love my freedom, to spread my wings, to choose the sky. And then you arrived.

Too tired to fly, too envious to let me go. And so, I stopped. I landed exactly where I shouldn’t have: in your web. A trap made of sweet words and half-truths. You disguised yourself as shelter, while slowly spinning your threads around me.

Your lies were invisible threads, your manipulations tight knots around my mind. You made me doubt myself. You made me believe I was the unstable one, too much, too emotional, wrong. That my sensitivity was a flaw. That my affection was a burden. That my loneliness was my fault.

And all the while, you laughed as I lost pieces of myself. You turned me against the people I loved, just to feel important. You played with emotions, with people, as if they were yours to own. You collected attention, admiration and even that photo. The one you still keep, like a trophy.

A photo of me. Not as a symbol of something beautiful, but as proof that you’d done it you’d caught me.

Because you didn’t want love. You wanted power. And I, in that moment, was too hurt to see it.

But now, my wings aren’t broken anymore. I’ve learned how to set myself free. I’ve learned that love doesn’t trap you, doesn’t confuse you, doesn’t drain you. I tore down your web, thread by thread. I unlearned your rules. And I started to fly again.

“Rules exist to be broken in order to grow,” you once wrote. And so I did. Only this time, I broke them to save myself from you.

[universosinfinus]

Ambos sabemos que yo no soy lo que tú necesitas.

[thediaryofalmosteverything]

Quiet Isn’t the Same as Calm

People often describe me as calm. Steady. Someone who doesn’t get stressed.And they’re not entirely wrong. I don’t panic easily. I believe things will work out (eventually — perhaps after some last-minute scrambling and a large latte). I adjust well. I like routine but I’m not thrown off by change. I don’t need chaos to feel alive, but weirdly… I don’t mind it either.And yet — give me chaos, and…

[charlesangels03]

Disembodied Identity

Does the disembodied identity really separate you from yourself? Does it show the monster you really are?

We don't show others our vulnerabilities or our "real selves" when we are in the "outside" world. We try to mask our emotions by stilling our faces when walking on the street. People don’t know if the person you are right now is just a façade to hide your true colors.

My experience in this online chat platform called ChitChat made me realize that the anonymity that these platforms provide can be used for bad. Unlike in the real world, people can see you, hear you, smell you, or touch you, that's why you are careful with your actions.

It was this instance that while I was assuming an identity of an Indonesian girl, I encountered a Spanish guy . We started with the usual exchange of pleasantries like "hi" and "hello". He asked me "Why are you here?" and I plainly replied "Just trying to socialize here." He cannot believe that I am just in the platform trying to socialize. (In hindsight, saying that you are there just to socialize sounded so vanilla and boring that it makes you question "why am i really here?")

Now it got to the part, where I asked him what his hobbies are. To which he replied, “gym, movies, hiking.” Before I get to reply, he added “guess you were having dirty thoughts?” And to my shock, it took me a minute just to process this sudden escalation. “What dirty thoughts,” I replied. "U tell me haha," he said. It got weird that I said to him, "Nooooooo... I don't have any haha." ?Are u sure? haha" "Yes haha." "Sad" He said sad because he wished that I had.

Afterwards, he replied “Ahh okay. I guess, I should get going” Then he exited the chat, or he skipped me.

Afterwards, I started to experiment with other identities. Most of the people using ChitChat are men in their 20’s. Whenever I assume a female identity, they get excited and would ask for my SnapChat or Instagram. But when I assume a male identity, they would skip me. Most of the times It led me to this realization that the Internet is a medium for these guys to find someone to talk to. Usually chatting with someone would imply to hook up with them or to be in a relationship or whatever. And I find it uncomfortable or even alarming that these people would just assume me trying to find someone to like hook up with.

Although, this is not always the case. Not all people you meet in the Internet are bad or would expect something from you. But this disembodied identity experience made me realize that our selves is separated in the physical world and the digital world, and both selves exhibit different symbolic markers. We mask parts of ourselves in the real world, while we unmask those parts in the digital realm. At the same time, we mask parts of our identity in the digital world that only the physical world can see.

Elijah's 7th Week Blog Entry: Personal Writing

[randomishz]

One of my favorite quotes doesn’t come from books or movies—it’s something my parents taught me. They said, “The biggest failure isn’t failing; it’s not trying.”

As a child, I didn’t fully understand their words. I let them pass from one ear to the other, not realizing the depth of their meaning. But as I grew older, I came to see how true they were. Failing isn’t the worst thing that can happen—regret is. My father always said that regret is the most painful feeling because it’s rooted in what could have been.

You can fail after trying, but at least you’ll know you gave it your best. That kind of failure is different; it teaches you lessons and builds resilience. But not trying? That leaves you with endless "what ifs" and a lingering sense of loss.

Now, as a second-year college student, I’ve decided to take risks in every situation, no matter how daunting. Life is too short to be ruled by fear. Failure isn’t the end of the world, but regret can follow you forever. So, I choose to try, because even if I fail, I’ll know I gave it my all—and that fulfillment is worth everything.

By Sidrich Sorila | November 20, 2024

[the-feral-quill]

In Every Unspoken Word

Instant. Electric. Connection.

A vibration, words I never knew I needed, a feeling completed.

Scary beyond all reason, because it was only chance that led me to you— or was it fate, knowing that one needed two?

The effortless way you stay on my page, finger under each new word, listening to every unspoken word I say, bringing me comfort and peace in ways unknown to me.

Keeping your heart within arm’s reach, whispering in a way I almost hear your doubts, like you’re trying to sort your feelings out.

But they spill, overflowing, with every time you speak to me, with all the effort you breathe into me, with all the silent laughs and hard smiles, with how, with you, everything slows down for a while.

All the while, my heart races every time you say my name; a breath hitches in my chest when I say yours. I’m overwhelmed and anxious, but you make me a choice, not an option.

You speak of me like an old book you’ve read over and over, like you’re waiting with bated breath for the next chapter— because you want to be it.

You want to hold me gently in your hand, knowing, understanding that the pen in my hand is shaking, that the previous pages had my heart breaking, that the old pages are torn and bruised.

Yet, you treat each one as if they’re shiny and new. You don’t put me on the shelf; you don’t hide me in a box or closet. You display me coyly, so others can see my beauty but never hold me the way you do.

For there are secret pages within that, if others could, they would covet. You know they’d love it.

So you hold me close to your chest. I feel the warmth, and I forget how afraid I was to say the words I couldn’t bring myself to say, how I held back too long—they’re overflowing in every way, and how I keep praying to God you’ll stay.

How I pray every day you’ll keep choosing me, and I’ll keep my heart open to you, because things are just beginning.

But damn, do I want you— want you in whatever form you may come: slowly, thoughtfully, patiently, growing, feeling, everything, all at once.

But even these words will never be enough to express everything you make me feel.

Let’s be real.