trashfirewriter - Tumblr blog

[trashfirewriter]

I’m at a certain point in my life where I stir my coffee with cutlery. 

[trashfirewriter]

02222022

Last year, everything went to shit on this very day. 

This year, well, everything is still shit. 

The difference? At least the date is satifying to look at. There’s so many twos! 

[trashfirewriter]

The worst weekend

I haven’t slept properly in three days, only subsisting through power naps and red bull and coffee. My eyes are burning from staring too much at the screen and my brain feels like it’s about to melt from my head. 

Perhaps if I still held the capability for higher thought, I would panic, causing this post to be another sentimental road trip. Thankfully, that’s long gone. 

If I get through this, I swear to God I’ll raise hell with everything I got. 

[trashfirewriter]

The “Live” Notebook

I wrote a lengthy post sometime ago about the symbolism of that small spiral notebook. I have come to report the lack of progress. 

I’ve probably went through three notebooks now. I keep writing down tasks that I needed to accomplish while doing my utmost best not to accomplish them. It sounds like I’m proud of it but please believe me that I’m actually dying. I wish I had the strength to properly convey my panic. 

As I write this, “You’re not sorry” by Taylor Swift is playing in the background. My playlist is in shuffle so this has got to be the universe calling me out on my own bullshit. The universe may be right. 

Even then, I do feel shitty about it. 

At this rate I don’t know what WILL work. So far, a million things haven’t. I’m entering that state of mind where I brood over everyone’s mortality all over again, while giving no fucks about my own. The idea of disappearing doesn’t scare me. However, the disappearance of my loved ones does. 

I don’t know how the fuck I got the strength to mull over the futility of living and persistence of time, but maybe it’ll all disappear when I run until my muscles are sore and I’m out of breath. 

(”Breathe” is now playing. Wow.) 

I read a tweet yesterday about how we shouldn’t be rewarded for our failures, because results are all that matter in the end, anyway. I have to admit there was a time where I thought that way. Perhaps a part of me still did. No one likes to fail, after all. But between failing spectacularly and succeeding mundanely, maybe some of you can understand why I prefer to take the high road. I can’t speak for everyone else, but biting off more than you can chew can teach you a lot more than nibbling in uncertainty. 

Ah, I’m rambling. 

[trashfirewriter]

Two wolves

There are two wolves inside of me: one that thinks I’m shit, and one that thinks I’m God. Most of the time, the first wolf takes over and eats me alive. But on rare times, especially when I get a good nap and a good cup of coffee, the second wolf springs forth and devours its twin. 

Tonight is one of those times. 

[trashfirewriter]

02132022

Shit went down since my last entry. 

However, that shit dies with me. Today, I went out for a morning jog for the first time in YEARS. Almost collapsed on the way home, but it’s so worth it. I got to stop by the new bakery that opened up near our house, and tried this weird, glazed pastry. I’ve grown to be fond of it. 

I fell asleep right after, but it’s good to sleep with nothing to think about but aching bones and feet. It’s afternoon as I write this, which means it’ll be another long night, and tomorrow it’ll be hell all over again. But that’s okay. Once you’ve been through the worst shit you can think of, you start seeing things differently. 

I don’t know how much my experiences will impact my writing. On these days, I am reminded that again, this is supposed to be a writing blog, not a personal dumpster fire of all the things that fucked me up and didn’t. This level of disclosure should be unhealthy, right? 

But then again, I believe the writing process includes personal setbacks. We can separate the writer and their work as much as we want, but at the end of the day, there are stories that can never be written the same way twice. Two writers can work with the same characters, same plot, and even the same style of writing - but I guarantee you their works will never be the same. Plagiarizers are on a different level though, and that’s another topic, so I’ll leave it here for now. I guess all I’m trying to say that each of us have something different to offer, various methods and techniques that heighten the different aspects of the same dish. 

Speaking of dishes, I am also hungry. So that’s it for now. 

[trashfirewriter]

Live

I recently acquired my old, trusty to-do list notebook. It looks like the one they have in Blues Clues, except it has lines. Once, I was able to fill all the pages,  detailing months’ worth of accomplished tasks. 

Today, I’m starting again. 

It has the word ‘Live’ written on the cover, in the cringiest font ever. But I guess that’s why I liked it so much. Maybe life is meant to be cringe, after all. 

I went outside to touch grass yesterday, and I have to admit I missed the breathlessness that comes after a good jog. My body aches, but in a good way. I was supposed to jog this morning, then broke another promise to myself. It would be disappointing if I wasn’t so used to it. 

Either way, I’m reminded how little I value life these days. I missed the times where I looked forward to simply getting sunlight on my face. Times where I saw the sunrise and marvelled at the beauty of it.  I think I’d like that - being able to fall in love with simple things again. 

I don’t know how to face the people I keep disappointing. I keep doing the same shit for months, and at this point, I’d be a masochist if I keep bowing my head and asking them to give me another chance. I’ve wasted so many chances already. I don’t know if I’ll still be allowed, this time. 

I wonder if there will be a day where I can believe in myself again. A few years ago, I thought I’d have to give up writing completely, but I knew I couldn’t. This time, I’ve been having thoughts on quitting life. The past few years have dragged me in a place where I completely lost sight of myself, and even now I’m still struggling to find it. All I have with me now is the fact that I can write. 

Do I even write good? Who knows. I’ve stopped giving a fuck not too long ago. I just hope I can learn to stop giving a fuck about the inconsistencies of my life the same way I can let my run-on sentences pass, and learn to forgive myself for all the mistakes the same way I allow typos to be published. 

In my head, I am writing this at 7AM in the morning, right after I just came home from the jog I was supposed to do. But it’s already 4PM where I’m from, and I haven’t done anything substantial yet. Maybe living starts with simple things like accepting that reality doesn’t match with the idealized version I have in mind. I can learn to love it, I can learn to hate it, but I can’t just shut down because of it. 

I can only hope that I have enough courage to do my remaining tasks for the day. I ask for courage now, because strength doesn’t do shit when one doesn’t have enough balls to act on certain things. I still don’t know how to properly get myself back on track, but maybe I can start small and just...end the day without adding more shit for tomorrow? I don’t know if that makes sense either. 

[trashfirewriter]

02062022

I don’t understand how people just...get things done. 

There was a time where I functioned like a well-oiled machine, perhaps even better than most. That shit is long ruined now. Not only am I panicking for the next week already, I also  can’t imagine having to wake up tomorrow. I can’t even imagine making it through today. 

For the umpteenth time, I wish this was a blog that inspired people. You know those blogs that just fill you with a rush of productivity once you see their posts? I want that. But more importantly, I want to be able to keep the promises I make to myself, because I’ve slacking off for another week and now I’m 100% sure that the world will hit me with a finishing blow. Or maybe it already did. I don’t know. 

Getting out of a rut is fucking harder than social media makes it seem. It’s always framed as if someone’s like just changed because they flipped a switch and decided they’ve had enough of fucking around. Personally, I’ve been flipping so many switches since the second half of 2021, with no such luck. At this point I can say that the struggle to crawl my way out killed me harder than giving up. Sometimes I wonder if things would be better if I gave up earlier, quit earlier, and just...surrendered to the all consuming void a tad bit earlier. I think it would save so many people from placing their trust on me. They wouldn’t end up being disappointed, then. 

However, this line of thinking suggests that I DID give up on myself, huh? Maybe I’ve lived the past few months in denial. I don’t know. 

There’s probably going to be a harsher rendition of this entry in my private journal, but I wanted to write down these thoughts hoping that one day, I can look back to them and thank myself somehow. I chose this path, nobody else. The least I could do now is keep walking it.  

Change doesn’t come easy, you know? There was a time where I feared stepping out of my comfort zone, but now that I did, all that’s left is the soul-crushing burnout. It’s like taking a leap of faith, failing to land on the other side, and plumetting to the ground like Icarus but with none of the poetry. I can’t seem to get myself together and muster the strength to crawl out of this shithole. 

It reminds me of that game, Getting Over It. 

I’ve only watched others play it, but if you listen to the monologue, you’ll understand why the game is made that way. I loved that monologue just as much as I loved watching others struggle to play the game. Frustration reveals a lot about people. I suppose it was never about how many times they fell and how long they took before they cleared the game - rather, it was the valiant attempts to get back up, bruised ego and all, and still brave that mess. 

Others found entertainment seeing players ragequit or go berserk, but personally, I rather enjoyed the quiet moments of defeat. This I can understand,  having played a few games myself. That humbling moment where you realize it’s not just a game anymore. It becomes a personal commitment. 

Maybe I’m in that state right now, continuously being pummeled and unable to regain my footing. I feel like I’m playing an FPS game and my teammates are shouting over the comms telling me square up or stand down. I can’t keep up. 

But I can’t quit either. 

[trashfirewriter]

02052022

FUCK IT IT’S 4AM AGAIN AND I’M NOT STARTING MY DAY AS A PUSSY

Before I sleep I’m gonna send this message that’s been bugging me since yesterday! Then I’m going to wake up, touch some grass, then work properly! I’m going to write that godfucking essay, send my emails, do my job, then add at least some 500 words to my WIP! 

@/self this is not the time to be eloquent this the time to get shit done okay wee got this we got this i know it hurts i know it feels bad i know it makes you sick BUT WE GOT THIS 

[trashfirewriter]

02032022

I just saw someone reply on a reddit post, referring to paying debts before kicking the bucket as ‘John Wick Mode’. Strangely enough, the thought is comforting. Actually, scratch that - OP just reminded me why I loved John Wick as a character. He’s relentless, sure, but there’s something about the way he  fight for a little bit of peace just gets me. He’s made quite the name for himself, big enough to shake the High Table, but in reality man just wants out of that messy, dog-eat-dog lifestyle. I can relate to that. 

I could probably write more on John Wick’s character arc, motivations, and how it affects the world and systems around him, but maybe more on that later. For now, I’ll believe OP and postphone dying, because at this point I’ve lost too much and I just keep losing. I wish I could articulate how it physically pains me to give a fuck about my responsibilities and actually do them, how it wrecks my mind and just cripples me to bed all day, but I’ve accepted already that I can’t change other people’s opinion of me unless I produce results.   

I chose this path willingly - I studied under my course knowing this shit will happen, I took up a lot of responsibilites because I knew it would give me experience. I wanted to grow. I wanted to make the most of college (fuck yeah we keep paying for that shit with blood, sweat and tears), so here we are. 

I’m behind all the schoolwork for this semester, and it’s already finals. Everything I’m supposed to submit is way past due. I have backlogs in my work all the way from June last year. The work keeps piling up along with the bills. I need to help around the house. It doesn’t get any more excommunicado than this. 

I’m not gonna lie - sometimes I do wish I have the privilege to just...do my own thing. I wish I could live my life unbothered by shit, and basically do everything I said I’d do in the moment I need them. I wish this blog didn’t have to exist. But I’ve already made like, five or six posts, so I can’t abandon this anymore. It’s one of the few remaining things in my life that I could commit to right now.  I have way more deadlines having over my head than John Wick’s bounty, and I refuse to go down quietly. 

I mean, might as well, right? 

[trashfirewriter]

02012022

I can’t believe that I’m back to where I was exactly one week ago. Still balls-deep in backlogs and downing shots of soju. Was it a productive week, at least? Hell fucking no. 

I didn’t even get anything done yesterday. I’m probably dead by attempting to push through submissions despite my prof stating that end of January was the cap. 

Ah, shit. I’ve done something stupid again. 

[trashfirewriter]

I fucked up

I fell asleep for the whole day. Oh God. It’s grind or die now. 

[trashfirewriter]

01312022

I have so many meetings and deadlines crammed for today. It’s almost 4AM and I haven’t slept at all. Instead, I’ve been trying to psyche myself up to write something. 

I stumbled across a tweet how Neon Genesis Evangelion got dystopia right, in a sense that students are still forced to go to school despite the world coming to an end. I haven’t had the time to watch the anime myself, but I suppose it made sense, the idea of desperately maintaining the status quo. Such is business of living. 

Perhaps I’ll write dystopia one day. Who knows. Naturally, as a student living through a shitty period myself, I’d say fuck the status quo. But it’s not that simple, is it? We have long-running systemic problems to consider, incompetent governance, and basically a shitfest of a society that keeps on taking. Ends to meet. Mouths to feed. Jobs we can’t afford to lose even though it treats us like shit. 

I’ve also realized many things lately, like extent of my fuckups for the past few years. It came at the expense of a three-day crippling breakdown, of course, and cost me precious time that could’ve been used for my backlogs. But I suppose it’s worth it - finally coming to terms how deep the damage ran. Many would argue that self-reflection is a waste of time, and perhaps they’ll be right, but that can’t stop me because I’ll still be wasting my time, you know? 

I also wonder if I can write something about personal growth. I want to explore the role of time in it, because there’s already a lot of stories that deal with effort, strategy, hard work, and basically intentional grinding. I’ll be honest and admit I’m not  good at those, so naturally I’ll take the road already travelled by yours truly. The path of a wastrel! The yellow brick road of an ambitious fuck who spends 90% of their time indulging in gradiose delusions! The broke grindset! 

That would probably be hilarious, if it didn’t hit too close to home. I remember scratching my head on what to put to this blog, how to make it seem worth reading, or give readers something aesthetically pleasing while they scroll. That was until I came to the decision to just fuck it, and let it go.  So what if we picked a bad place to start the journey? So what if it’s not perfect? 

There’s little fucks left to give by people who’ve been screwed by the world and by themselves ten times over.  It’s probably better to come back to this blog once I’ve already done something significant, but why wait? Who’s keeping score?  

No one wants to tell the world of their hardships. No one wants to be scrutizined for their failures. The worst of them yet, if I had to guess, is to probably scream into the void like a madman, typing out a long ass tumblr post during the ungodly hours of the morning like it makes a difference. But it doesn’t have to do shit, it doesn’t have to matter right now, because someday it will. 

Trash today, treasure tomorrow, I guess. Time either appreciates or depreciates the value of things. Time can’t turn shit into gold, but time will allow one lucky person to step on shit and hit jackpot! 

[trashfirewriter]

01252022

Not writing related, but I’ll be doing my best to reconnect with my schoolwork and get something done today. I woke up 7AM, which is already a huge leap from my usual 2PM record. 

(My head hurts. God, it fucking HURTS.) 

I know it’s supposed to be hard, but that doesn’t make everything any less easier to deal with. I wish I could just dig myself a hole and stay there forever. College was a fucking mistake. 

My only reprieve was that it’d suck to repeat a semester, and that I literally (financially) cannot afford to fail my subjects right now. I can’t quit my other commitments either, despite shirking from my duties the past few months. Pressure is an old friend, if not a jilted soulmate, that has been my side for so long I can’t believe I even bothered to deny its presence. 

I should probably leave this off my writing blog, but who gives a flying fuck. At this point in time, I’m just making a one, last valiant attempt before I kick the bucket. My scholarships are up in flames. I burned all the bridges towards any form of genuine relationship I might’ve had before shit went down. The only reason I’m still here is because 1.) I have unfinished business with people, and  2.) I have unfinished drafts. 

And those are...a lot, to say the least. So I’m still ways to go before I’m finally free.

[trashfirewriter]

bottoms up!

sometimes, the great push of the universe lies not in the grand acts of miracle or jaw-dropping inciting events, but on small nudges brought by mundane interactions between strangers on a hellsite. i’m getting shitfaced drunk first thing in the morning on a monday, trying not to cry because i’m so close to dropping college and everything else i’ve worked so hard for. state of grace by taylor swift is playing in the background. 

i’m the farthest thing from grace. but we have to start from somewhere, you know? maybe one day I’ll look back on this day and laugh how everything literally started with a bottle of soju, and a random pep talk from a someone i don’t even know. that seems ideal. 

but if it all goes to shit, well, at least i wasn’t sober, right?  

[trashfirewriter]

01242022

It’s 4AM and I’m drinking soju just a few hours before my classes. I probably have a meeting scheduled somewhere around the day, with multiple backlogs that I haven’t addressed during the weekend. I haven’t slept at all. 

I have several drafts for my first post - musings, insights, and personal experiences regarding writing. According to my professor, digital footprints can make or break your career, so one always has to be careful about what they post online. 

I hold onto that piece of wisdom until this day. It’s just that, as far as I’m concerned, the career has to exist first. 

(Okay, so a stranger just told me over twitter how mistakes make for great stories. Perhaps this is a sign from the universe?)

Maybe it’s time to find out.  

[trashfirewriter]

about this blog

exactly as the name says. a complete fucking trashfire. 

a guide to tags: 

#inside the trashfire - day-by-day entries

#fuel to the trashfire - insights, drabbles

#smoke to the trashfire - rant/vent 

#trash minus fire - random