It has been quite awhile since the last time that I was able to write an entry. Aside from the fact that I’ve been very busy with spring and all the related events associated with that season here in Bergen, I can honestly say that happiness has shun away the brooding writer in me.
There were some thoughts, of course. Thoughts that I decided to just mull over and not put on paper. It wasn’t because they were not good enough as subjects to begin with, rather, they were just so personal to me. It’s like a whisper from the subconscious that I couldn’t even make sense of fully. And if I couldn’t understand a thing, how am I able to write about it? I’ve never been a good fictional writer and I even barely lie in real life. Something that I am equally proud of and annoyed about. I wish I were more imaginative in a colorful way. Don’t get me wrong, I take pride in how sensibly I write and express my thoughts. Everything was researched, structured and I took great pains in connecting everything so it will tie up nicely in the end. But, yeah, they seem to be quite cerebral and philosophical, quite pretentious even if I actually believe in all of them.
So, the quest to be imaginative begins. I believe I am living a rather exciting life and I just do things whenever I feel like it (NB!: As long as it is still bound within my current beliefs in relation to morality and the sovereign authority of the country I am living in). With that in mind, it still doesn’t mean that I am ‘exciting’ as a person. I think I am rather dull. While on this journey, I confirmed something about me: I am uptight as shit.
I take the same path whenever I go hiking. I take photos of the same view while running or cycling. I sit on the same bench, on a specific spot, whenever I am on a walk. I pick up the same type of black pen whenever I am writing because otherwise, it will be an eyesore in my notebook. Speaking of notebooks, I have a ‘scratch’ notebook and a ‘final’ notebook because there is a great urge within me to scratch my eyes out if there’s a single erasure in the ‘final’ notebook. All the fictional books I own go to the side of my bed while the classics and philosophy ones should be on my study table. My cosmetics are separated based on their types, then their frequency of use and if they are used or new. Clothes should be folded nicely, otherwise I won’t be able to sleep. Judas, I sure sound like a psychopath. Fortunately, that wasn’t really the case. I mean, I am just taking control of the things that I can actually change or do something about. It was this innate desire to put everything in order as to how I see it fit. The anxiety to have everything ‘perfect’ by our definition was taking over me. It made me bored and boring. I thought I was chill but I am in a seemingly eternal state of perturbation.
I have accepted that life is absurd but I haven’t embraced the fact seemingly. I try to keep things in order because of the delusion that it can make me feel like I am in control of something. I balled my hand, grasping on anything that I can and could, as a consoling mechanism. I hold on to things that I can control and haphazardly handle things that I couldn’t. Imbalance ensued and creativity was drained. Apparently, what makes life beautiful is to not take a lot of things so seriously and some things a little bit more carefully. Attachments are attachments regardless of how seemingly fleeting they are. It’s counterproductive to see things and people based on how ‘temporary’ they feel. To always prepare for sad partings and to just be heavily focused on the mundane don’t really give us the full experience.
Now, I find myself disengaging with heavy thoughts. Beautiful flowers are just beautiful flowers. Proses give tightness in my heart but I blink and life is beautiful again. Hugs and kisses are momentary delights but I carefully store the memory of them. Scalding words hurt me but tomorrow, they were just a remnant of the past. The people in my life might just be passing by but I deal with them with utmost care and curiosity. The mundane is just the mundane and experiences, no matter how fleeting they may seem, I cherish how it made me feel.
Currently, I am trying out new music and food. For several days, I have been picking up books that are not really within my acceptable genres. I have been uncomfortably putting myself also in situations that I would usually refuse to be in. I have been saying, ‘no’, to a lot of things that I would usually just agree on to save face and saying, ‘yes’, to things that I would probably scoff about. And right now, I am just writing about something that I haven’t ‘prepared’ for. Just a random piece on a random day in an absurd world.
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