lately, i’ve been on a writing craze. the idea of a weekly post is something i’ve wanted to do for ages, but let’s face it, i’m prob not gonna stick to it. i’m more of definitely a “phases” person, and right now, it’s one of those intense thought floods. So, i’m gonna ride the wave and churn out as much as i can until one day, i’ll inevitably abandon it in the dusty corner after a few weeks. i’ve even dabbled in fictional stories, but let’s be honest, my skills don’t quite match my ambitions. i will just freestyle for now, and once, if ever, i get some skills in my pocket, i will come back to this topic, and credits to gpt for correcting my grammar and giving me nice vocab. (I have a draft on AI discussion too lol, so that’s another topic for the future.)
As I revisited my old journal entries, “that’s a red flag… that too… holy shit, that’s a lot of red flags…” Jokes aside, a consistent pattern emerged: I was perpetually fixated on either reliving the past or projecting myself far into the future, teetering on the edges of extremes. The concept of “balance” had never been in my dictionary; my life resembled an on-off switch, a continuous oscillation between polar opposites. Paradoxically, I considered myself a neutral observer of life’s complexities. My opinions typically hovered in a state of indecision, rendering me an exceedingly indecisive individual, while my actions were driven by impulsivity.
In the absence of the past, I’d eagerly construct a future. Conversely, in moments bereft of foresight, I’d immerse myself in the past, stretching nostalgia until it yielded a fresh future. Though I occasionally found myself in the present, these episodes were rarely pleasant. The present was a realm where both the past and the future bore down on me, resulting in feelings of misery, confusion, hollowness, and cynicism. I derived solace from the past and drew motivation from the future, but the present remained an unknown I feared.
The notion of simply “being” in the present frightened me. I craved a sense of purpose, regardless of its form or timing. As far back as I can remember, the specter of a “normal” life always haunted me. The idea of succumbing to a mundane, repetitive existence, fixated solely on the present, sent shivers down my spine. I struggled to reconcile the apparent simplicity and complexity of life, acutely aware that its nature was deeply subjective and relative. This awareness left me in a state of perpetual confusion. My life was characterized by a preoccupation with the people and events of the past, immersing myself in a world of my own creation. Yet, each time I dared to step outside this self-fashioned cocoon, a brave new world of the future unfurled before me. This transformation was not without its casualties, as it entailed the annihilation of the world I had left behind, leaving only the scattered fragments of my former indifference.
I often had the feeling that I hadn’t matured much. Whenever a challenge presented itself, my inner immaturity would rear its head, seemingly impervious to the knowledge I’d accumulated over the years. It was as if this wisdom merely danced on the surface, unable to penetrate the core of my being. I began to understand why people talked about navigating into their inner child. The inner child, I thought, was at the heart of it all, buried beneath layers of experiences and baggage that had accumulated over time. It occurred to me that if I kept piling on these layers, could I, in turn, bury that core even deeper?
What is the elusive present, really? I’ve tried in meditation, hoping to grasp that sought-after state of complete or semi-complete emptiness, but it has always remained just out of reach for me. In my view, a sustained presence in the moment seems unattainable. I can manage a few fleeting moments of it, but soon enough, my mind takes off in one direction or another. Some might call it anxiety, others might label it as worries, but perhaps it’s just the restless nature of thought itself.
We all have to deal with our own inner conflicts, and mine has been a constant companion in my life. I’ve documented various sets of contradictions that extend beyond the realms of past, future, and present. Often, it seems there’s no definitive solution in sight. Take the classic identity crisis, for instance. It strikes when I find myself straddling multiple sides, yet not wholly belonging to any. It’s as though I stand at a crossroads, faced with the daunting task of choosing a path, but an internal resistance persists, pulling me in different directions. Consequently, I’ve navigated the web of my own conflicting thoughts, living in a state of perpetual confusion for an extended period.
As I reflect on my current state of existence, I’ve arrived at a somewhat unsettling conclusion: it often feels like a binary choice between thinking and living, with little room for an in-between. For the time being, I seem to have gravitated towards the realm of thought. This manifests in my ceaseless writing, an attempt to decipher a question that remains frustratingly elusive, let alone its elusive answer.
A friend once asked me, “Can’t you simply find a middle ground or choose just living?” I told her that I had indeed made attempts, but I still couldn’t find the balance. Opting for just living seemed as implausible as expecting a fish to thrive without water – my thoughts, regardless of their quality, were my life’s sustenance.
What have I been up to? Well, it’s been countless hours seated in front of my laptop and notebook, digging deep into the my thought mazes (fun or not fun it really depends). I decided to steer myself towards the path of contemplation, a decision fraught with risks, but the journey has been okay far.
grab a drink (alcoholic or not), have fun reading my bs after two years :> it takes 3-4 min btw according to the average reading speed. 
19til29 