by Rie

I feel like shrinking this window because I’m actually writing this in a public place.

Which is ironic because this blog is very public (except that it’s public in the sort of way that a hideout is public – you’re welcome to explore but you’d have to find it first).

Anyway, I’ve been reading. I’ve been reading because I cannot find it in me to study. This shouldn’t be surprising; I very rarely find it in me to study. Maybe that’s why I like assignments, there’s a greater sense of purpose, of urgency that is attached to something with a tangible goal. It’s not as loosely defined as “don’t fail” but “here is something you can make that you can attach some pride to”.

It occurs to me that I could very likely attach pride to a good mark. It’s just that “a good mark” is so subjective. Is it ninety? Is it a hundred? Doesn’t the mark I pick have to do with the quality of student I am? For some reason that annoys me.

But I digress. If only my digressions were more coherent.

Anyway, said books have made me acutely self-aware. Their themes adhere closely to stray thoughts and form great thrombi that make little ideas more pronounced than they seem. What irks me is that my thoughts are mere platitudes – a paraphrased version of something that has been chorused by any decent mind that reads. Yet, leaving them untouched clogs up my brain, so I think and I think and I write.

Amplifying this effect is the fact that I’m reading about sad things. They are not sad in themselves, I feel, which makes it worse. If a child dies, that is sad in itself. The death has this effect that (rightfully) causes pain.

I wish I had a better word for what I’m trying to describe.

There are things not inherently sad. They are made sad by the impinging opinions and the whispered discussions. It’s the reverberations in your mind that impose on you a different sense of self – this is what you should be, this is what success looks like, this is what happiness is. And when everything sounds like that – how do you know what it is that you truly want? Can your mind even know what you want?

Perhaps this is best elucidated by a hypothetical situation, the sequelae to a death, maybe. It’s a scabbing wound being picked apart by “aren’t those circumstances just too bad?”, “they deserved it”, “did you hear-” – it’s the self-righteous euphoria to someone else’s misery.

This is what is right.

What I find sadder is that the people who do crawl back up to find a modicum of success can still be torn down. Reminders of their past. A book thrown at them to dictate how they should act. The gleeful warnings that everything is fleeting.

“I don’t like how that person talks about her achievements. Look at me, you know I’m actually brilliant, it’s just that I don’t tell anyone. If she falls back into her old habits, her everything will be nothing.”

That sort of thing.

And it’s a trap.

Everything’s a trap.

(This is a note reminding myself to study after spending 20 minutes writing. This also serves as a reminder to come back one day and revisit the idea and add coherence to the words above (and check for grammatical errors. This note is also delightfully unconventional in this space. That is all.)