PERS ; CAUGHT BETWEEN THE GOLD & THE GAME.

i can never quite tell if it's a good or bad thing when i go into writing droughts. the kind where i'm not even compelled to churn out something, the kind where i half-heartedly stare at my blog then move onto other irrelevant things to occupy my time, the kind where i start an entry half out of guilt & half out of boredom & never really get to finishing it.

me not writing usually falls into one of three reasons:
a) i'm so deluged with schoolwork & other things that internet time consists solely of occasional facebook visits
b) i'm content enough with life that i don't feel like i 'need' to write for therapy anymore - & let's face it, happy writing is hard to come by: if you're flying high, you don't really dwell upon it until it all comes crashing down
c) my mind has disintegrated into a tornado of emotions, so confused every way i turn that i start to escape & close off introspection just to let everything be.

anyone who knows me knows a) is utter bullshit (i will certainly make time for writing when i need, or else my mind would wander even further from staying on schedule), & the perfectionist in me says b) is a long way from here. but c), the most complex of the three, the most prevalent...the one reason i always try to push away but the one reason that seems to win in the end, when i tackle writing as the enemy that keeps me focusing on my flaws & never moving on.

is writing the enemy? a couple years ago i once struggled with the thought that the more i write, the more i ponder over my insecurities, & the more i start to withdraw instead of embracing that overrated word change like i always tell myself to. that if i stopped writing & ignored the negative thoughts clouding my head, the lack of attention to these worse traits would eventually lead to their disappearance. & so i stopped at one point, allowed myself to get lazy with my blog, didn't write anymore in my hardbound journal except for trivial daily life oddities, & sooner enough not writing came so easily.

sure, i've become more positive, somewhat less self-conscious since then. maybe it was because i stopped writing, maybe it was just my maturing. but living while shrouded from my own emotions & opinions, seemingly too disasterous for my own good, well...that was a far worse kind of an unhealthy mental state than thinking a few negative things here & there about myself. so yes, days of escaping from myself, of trying not to be an introvert, those days are behind me. because introversion is something to embrace, writing is something to be proud of, & emotions are something you should never back down from.

so there it is, the drought is over.

playing | "changes" - stars
photo | baldodario ; flickr

PERS ; CAN'T EVEN EAT, KNOWING I'LL THINK OF YOU.

do our food habits reflect our personalities? beyond the biological range of "i can stuff myself for one meal & last the whole day" vs. "i have to eat every hour or i can't function", that is. i mean those habits like eating pizza hut with a fork & knife (an obvious germophobe clean freak) or taking apart your oreos or shaking any liquid drink before you consume it.

my habit of getting tired of the same food easily isn't odd; i'm not even sure you can call it a habit, really. everyone gets sick of the same food, right? but when i think of the ritual hypothetical question "what food would you eat if you had to for the rest of your life?" i can't even come up with an answer (except maybe water...which really isn't food). even my absolute favorite foods that i thought i could stuff myself with for years, i get sick of within weeks. plain tart yogurt, gyros, indian food, you name it. i harbor an obsession for sushi yet after stacking my plate once with albacore & yellowtail & various rolls at a buffet, i can't even pass by the same sushi bar again. committing to eating the same soup three days in a row is painful. boring. lacking life.

not only does this make me a stubborn eater (i really do not have picky taste, but the same type of food over & over will drive me insane) + make me scared for this coming year where i'll have to come up with ingenious new meals...every day...to cook...for myself, but it makes me wonder how much of this outlook on food reflects on my personality. with friendships & relationships. even music. every detail.

by complete (lack of) surprise, why yes, i am pretty easily bored, looking for the next shiny thing, somewhere between an inability to concentrate & a lack of commitment. yes, hanging out with the same person every day would be, and is, unbearably suffocating. yes, i go through the most drastically different music phases where i plunge into a band obsession until i grow tired. i have to change my hair every year, something new, something different, something you might not notice but something i can appreciate as a new version of me. even down to the tiniest detail, i can't seem to sit down & commit. i can't even keep myself put in one blog, for god's sake.

on the outside i might appear to be in a lazy stupor, too sluggish to get up and move. but inside my mind, my desires, they're always running, chasing something down. something that might not be new, but at least newer & revealing the slightest of change. one new dish at least to add to my dinner. a new band i could learn to fall in love with. a new friend to delve into and explore. the only thing constant is that i keep hunting change, constantly enamored with the concept of new, different.

of course, change is fun. maybe changing yourself or other people is a difficult feat, but changing the slightest of your surroundings, searching for that bit of unique can't be beat. but it makes me wonder, when does that time come when you need to stop searching change? when you need to learn to envelop yourself with the people you have, to embrace them, and to keep embracing them throughout? when does that time come when you need to learn to sit & eat the same meal, over & over? & perhaps a scarier thought, when does that time come when you learn to want to eat the same thing? when you want to stop chasing down new & different?

wanting to commit, a concept so foreign (but one i'm willing to try to embrace).

playing | "못해" - 4Men
photo | hokipoki ; flickr

PERS ; OUR CONFESSIONS, A NIGHT PROCESSION.

one of the greatest beauties of procrastination is tra-la-la-ing through life, letting all the worries build up inside you until it bursts all at once, & you power through everything one by one. best of all, it works. that intense bout of concentration as the hours tick by is unbeatable motivation at its best. really, trillions of high school & college students wouldn't be doing it if it didn't work.

people always ask how one can really 'enjoy' one's self while the guilt claws & claws inside. ummm...it's really easy? whining & bitching about "how much work you have to do, ugh it's just too hard to even start, whinebitchwhine" is one of the best, most savored parts of procrastinating. laziness is a much harder villain to beat than guilt, a really sad statement on mankind (or just me) but true nonetheless.

imagine a world where we started our work 2 weeks in advance, working on our big final project daily, studying for our midterm bit by bit. never being overwhelmed or daunted by the sheer amount of crap on our to-do list. sounds...boring (and did i mention impossible?)

there's something about me though, maybe it's that blood type a stereotype or something, but it's that feeling that there will always be some worry clawing inside me. that a sort of parasite almost has to exist for me to survive, for me to always be skittish and on guard, knowing that there is something, something i should be doing. it's a bit odd, but every sunday (the requisite You Have To Stop Procrastinating Now Or You're Really Screwed Day) in the shower i think of every single thing that could possibly bother or worry me. a shower starting with the heaviest of hearts, and ending a little more lucidly as the time alone (or the water) helped those fears subside.

so even in this dead of summer, before i really have to cater to any test or book, even while i'm lying on my bed with my macbook on my stomach writing this, even now my mind feels heavy knowing that there are just so many things to mull over and worry about. all the furniture i have to find for the apartment. the textbook i should be reading so i don't miserably butcher my gpa even more. all the friends i should be making plans with. the job i should be finding. every productive thing that i could, could be doing. but then i lean back & visit my best friend firefox...

& that, is the beauty of procrastination.

playing | "plots & plans" - film school
photo | ohsweetnuthin ; flickr

PERS ; LORD KNOWS IT WOULD BE THE FIRST TIME.

you remember what it's like to not care. indifference untying you & setting you free. to fall asleep with an empty mind, maybe pondering about what you're going to wear tomorrow if anything. complaining about how boring life was, how maybe you needed drama to weave itself in to kickstart it back to life.

& you would regret it the second it crawled out of your mouth.

apathy. because really, what is easier? the ultimate copout answer to anything & everything: not hating, not loving, not even a remote speck of emotion to be found anywhere. simply nothing. closing your heart and letting rationality settle deep, a stone cold unemotional soul greeting everyone under a false pretense of smiles.

you escaped because it was easy. shutting yourself off from anyone & everyone you knew was simple, quiet, calm. minimal effort led to minimal conversation and with your earphones set in deep, soon people stopped trying. a recluse, by & large. a title you embraced because no one, you were convinced, no one would know you like you did. no one would know you better, as much as, even half as much as you.

society doesn't like it when you try to ignore its rules. when you turn your head and say "i don't care." it built you to care, machine-produced you to feed off drama & whine & bitch about everything to everyone (or at least someone) & cry when the heart ached & celebrate when it pounded as loud as a beating drum. it wants you to scream & shout, be obnoxious & rude, & certainly never think before you speak. rationality? maturity? words that had never even crossed paths with society, never.

it was always like this. people told you you needed best friends, someone you needed to tell everything to. and people didn't seem to realize how...impossible that seemed, to come across someone who'd patiently sit there sorting through your thoughts, no matter how patient you were with theirs. & so you learned to listen. you learned to be a good friend. & people tried, but no matter how hard you tried to wrench it out, there was just too much stuffed and buried inside. too overwhelming to put on display. things you didn't even want to rediscover about yourself.

so when the chance comes, a rare chance at a blazing connection, someone who could wait with you, perhaps let you lean on them as you dug out boxes & boxes of concealed thoughts, & best yet, someone who would open those little boxes for you & treasure them one by one, well, you want to to hold on. to make sure day by day that your insecurity was just a false alarm; to make sure that those boxes were still seen as presents, a treat to savor, a secret meant for two.

& of course, the paranoia kicks in. you remember, you were never very good at this. making friends, bonding, 'hanging out', those came easy, but that deeper connection, the only thing you had ever chased after, well. it was always almost-- building-- /crash.

it was then that yes, you learned again, proven right again. apathy. crawling in your hole of comfort. because how many times can you really try, until giving up is the smarter idea?

playing | "please, please, please, let me get what i want" - the smiths
photo | ohsweetnuthin ; flickr