So yesterday, I was going through my old posts – because that’s what I do when I am bored and wish to remind myself of past atrocities otherwise known as my life – and one thing that really stunned me was how… open, I was, in most of them. I mean, I actually blogged. About my life.
And embarrassing as most of them might have been, they’re a far cry better than the ones that are been regularly churned out right now: Random pictures ripped off Tumblr. Random quotes ripped off dead people. Random scenes ripped off ABC network shows and daytime television.
What ever happened to openly airing the sordid details of my life?
Maybe somewhere down the line, I started becoming more aware and conscious of the kinds of people who had access to my blog, constantly keeping them at the back of my mind whenever I wanted to talk about something, which, inadvertently, ended up in me wanting to talk about nothing.
You could say they wiped my inspiration clean.
Then again, you could also say my very own existence in itself wipes my inspiration clean. My life is a dreary old piece of rag right now, tainted through and through with stains and spills. Nothing motivates or inspires me anymore. A lot of the time, I wish I could un-know half of the people that I know, and all of the time, I wish I could undo half of the things I’ve done.
I yearn myself wistful for a time when things were simpler, even if they didn’t seem that way back then. A time when I was proud to be different. Proud that I wasn’t, and still am not, a clubber/drinker/social whore. Proud that I had values and principles which I lived by. Proud that I stood, undeterred, amidst a corroded society filled with strings and strings of moral-decayed douchebags and sluts.
I still refuse to hop in the bandwagon, so one lesser ring of fire for me when I die, hooray. But damn my stupid little heart for feeling inferior to the whole bunch of them. Damn my mind for even thinking for one minute that they’re all better and smarter and prettier and richer and luckier than me.
I mean, sure. Some of them might be better, smarter, luckier. Most of them might be richer. And all of them probably prettier – no, wait. This is not working out.
Let me try again.
What I mean to say is, sure. They have everything that I don’t. And on top of it, they don’t have the misfortune of being blessed with a mind that thinks too much, or the disability to accept things for what they are. They can take life for what it is, think rationally, logically, and not second-guess everything until their minds are reduced to pulp.
But do they know how to be content with nothing?
Not the way that I have learnt to be.
Which is why, I think, that the time has come for me to shed a few people from my life again. I can’t have elements in my life that make me question my self-worth. Elements that don’t even mean anything to me. I don’t need to be sent spiralling down to a 2009-resembling hellhole again. I need to be removed from situations, completely detached to everyone save those few who really deserve to see me for who I really am. I will not pressure myself into making decisions that I think will impress others; I only want to impress myself.
And in the process, if I am going to end up poor, a spinster, and nothing much in my life to show off for, then so be it. At least at the end of every day,
I will be impressed with myself.
