453: It’s Been a While
Truthfully, I haven’t found the time to sit down and actually write something. If I briefly pass over the twenty-three odd days that have come and gone since the end of exams, it’s difficult to summarise with anything other than indulging in hedonism, and losing myself in dreams that seem too real, that seem to blur that fine line between reality and the realm of imagination. Coupled with having vivid dreams and excruciatingly clear memories, it does start to be a bit difficult to distinguish between the two. Of course when I’m not outside with friends or just outside in general, I’m probably either sleeping or aimlessly wandering on the Internet. Usually lost in my own thoughts, wondering about other people, the nightlife, my future, other worries, succumbing to the pleasures and pains that life offers me, boring things, silly things, strange things. Unfinished thoughts, sentences, lost thoughts, grappling with figments of imagination, broken fragments of slippery dreams lost in translation because of the miscommunication between the conscious and the subconscious. Engaging with my unconventional dreams of looking like a young and employed writer sitting in a coffee shop or a public dining area, not blending in and just being myself. Something that maybe I have done too much, yet too little of. I wish I had engaged more with my memories on paper. My biggest regret is not recording every single moment of my life, or every single thought, but rather that I neglected to take the time out of my day to preserve the threads of the tapestry my eyes weave before me, the forever moving picture that never really stopped or started; it was just there, I guess, but the longer I leave it to decay in the deep recesses of my mind, the more I forget, muddle up, embellish.
Is that not what they say about nostalgia? Going down memory lane, tripped out because everything is the way you remembered it, but coming back to it now, it kind of feels different, like thin, glossy film veiling your vision, or your memories, or both. Actually it’s difficult to know, but the more you trip, maybe the more you notice the bad things, the little, stealthy motions your original eye missed because you were so blinded by love or your constant pursuit of approval that ends up being a fault. Withdrawing from nostalgia trips are difficult because you don’t know, well, sometimes you don’t know how to feel after it. Renewed, displeased, hopeful, ashamed, wistful? Really, it’s difficult to know. For me, though, nostalgia trips aren’t really what they’re meant to be. For me, it’s a mix of the past and the future, peppered with snippets of the present. I prefer to call it being on artificial psychedelics 24/7. It’s easier that way; it’s easier when I don’t have to distinguish between reality and dreams because I am always dreaming, always living in my own world, controlling what I can or cannot do beyond the confines of the education system. If there ever was a time where I did not shit on how god awful the system was to me, to many of my friends, to many other young and younger strangers, that time is now. I have never been more grateful to possess and continue to develop a love for the English language, literary works of art, an acquired taste for thrilling and moving films.
Speaking of which, I went to see Goodbye Christopher Robin this morning. Such a moving film. Anything that focuses heavily on familial relationships, the desire for approval, love, marginalisation (is ostracisation a word??), those really resonate with me. I cried during the film, towards the end. I guess you could say it elicited a strong emotional response from me if we were still in HSC English. That also reminds me, I should probably get a start on my novel. I found it incredibly challenging (or maybe I was just lazy or preoccupied with other things to write those fifty thousand words). I’m not sure. I came here, to where I used to study often and alone, so that maybe I could write something for my novel, but I only ended up writing my next blog post. Whoops.
I want to write an alcohol ballad, for my blog. It’s been a while since I rhymed words and wrote a poem, but I guess I’ll give it a go when I get home.