I never thought I was very creative, my imagination resided always in too many boxes. In my mind I was just someone who occasionally tried to draw or enjoyed framing bits of life, but I wouldn’t say that it was it was fueled by an infinite bubble of whirling ideas in my head, definitely not.
Only now do I feel a strange yearning for an arty output. I want to draw and paint and write, I want to bring my camera out and bother people with my creepy shots. I want to watch movies, I want to read an adventure, talk with some juice and sing. I re-read my blogs in an attempt to feel again the feelings I managed to put in words or an image.
Thanks to UWA, I’m being intellectually stimulated in ways I lacked before and I adore it. I never thought I’d feel unbalanced. Who would’ve guessed?
Its been said that absence makes the heart grow fonder, I never expected to fully understand it with the missing of creative expression. I love school, but I can’t wait to put all that has inspired me in my own forms, my own artistic pieces.
I feel like I found a lost friend, its lovely.
'Have I wasted the days I've been given?'
Circling the mind like a vulture in my lifelong sphere,
I can’t tell if good motivation or consequential fear.
both outwardly in conversation and in my own mind.
Depending on whichever situation or topic, the voice in my mind changes in tone, accent, speed. I speak fast and eager in expression, to what I believe in, what I am determined to find out and what I plan to do. I actually have goals and at this point, talking is the closest I can get to these imagined dreams. I have so much longing that there is constant chatter, always visuals being conjured to how I’d be, how I’d look and react, what I’d do.
I want to tell stories, those I’ve built to become and the foundation of them, consisting of what I’ve already dug up.
I’ve had great pleasure in having really good conversations in the past three days with Nicole, Ankita and Michelle. All of which ended sooner than I’d prefer, but I’m really glad I had all of them.
More to come, I hope!
I need to figure out why amongst two great people in insightful conversation, I hesitate revealing what I truly want to do. What’s the taboo here?
(Amanda if you’re here and want to know, (you were one of the two people mentioned here) ask me gently five times and I’ll eventually say it. I would really want to, but nerves obstruct my throat more often than preferred.)
I don’t see how supporting abortion makes or doesn’t make you a feminist. Supporting equal rights and being a woman deserving of them, to me that is more of a proper validity point.
A strong and clever woman would be careful to not get herself pregnant if a child isn’t wanted; and if by chance it happens by accident (through sex by choice, not rape), she would accept the bed she made and deal with it, bearing in mind the person she’s created. Decisions not for one anymore, but two.
The innocent and unborn is not her consequence, the effects and future decisions are. It feels extremely wrong that a child’s potential decades of life be used as a delete-like escape of an inconvenient situation; one that was started by her own choice.
It has been a full week. Feelings were everywhere.
I feel like I’m obligated to take it down in a well-written, nicely structured piece of text that justifies the moral failures of my thoughts. I draft paragraphs in my mind to ease my conscience that is in constant battle with my gut for justice. I accept that I have grown enough to realise the bigger decisions aren’t black and white but countless shades of grey. (that stupid book has tainted those words for eternity)
I run through my head all the things I have, should have, and haven’t done. I argue back and forth over the unintended gap year I have taken, and if I have proven to anyone, (mostly myself) if it was worth these twelve months. I feel inside me the simmering excitement of the next phase in my life, closely amongst the wonder and gratitude for my amazing boyfriend who helped me realise this next road.
I analyse my loneliness. I make wild guesses replacing an answer that may never be correctly marked. I make do with hope and support I sometimes don’t fully believe. I feel mediocre and helpless, I get confused and I cry. I push through and force strength, I hope and I move. I don’t know how much I am supposed to know of my own person, whether I could, whether I should. I drown myself in questions I don’t know the answer to; whether I even should know the answer to. And after all of that, I am damned nowhere near finding out.
Maybe that’s okay. Somehow, I’m sort of, strangely, preciously, wonderfully, kinda, happy.
Thursday, 25th April 2013
1:34AM mac time
It is at night that I become painfully honest and surprisingly deep. The day’s worries and anxieties quiet down, clearing a lot of the emotional clutter hindering my inhibited thoughts. I feel the lack of control I have over many things.
I think of the people I miss, and whom I could talk to about these deeper notions. I miss them and sometimes talk to them in my head to hear their voices in advice and comfort. Sometimes I don’t want to listen because it confirms the worries I have during the day. Now is night.
I let everything rest, it is a relief as much as a risk.
I debate over staying awake and being a little more productive, or sleeping because it keeps the unwanted pains at bay. The day’s anxieties sink into something bigger, more real, more solid.
I either tackle it with better judgement, or collapse internally at the lack of knowing how, both with elevated clarity.
My nights are 50-50.
So I saw this photo on tumblr and it showed an old model of the mobile phone, physical keypad and everything. And I thought, wow I miss those things. I then thought more about it, and contemplated how much I meant that notion.
I do miss the physical qualities of the phone, its tiny size and hardy casing. I probably don’t miss seeing every text individually because I say lots and don’t remember them easily. I miss the satisfaction of typing fast on the 9 buttons using the abc dictionary technique and the colourless screens that never had a glare. It was simple, and if not for my reliance on the internet to help communicate between Joan and I, I’d still want to use it once in a while. Using simplicity as a breather.
Its my first time living unsteady. No school, no proper job, I’d expect me to be flipping like oil in a pan. Strangely, despite the lack of a staple I find myself more interested, more excited, more motivated, feeling fuller.
I don’t remember feeling this way in school, though I did what I loved. Ideas flow, regarding projects/future/people/interests, my mind races forward and I’m really loving the rush. Since Monday, I’ve been having a taste of how it’d be like in a full-time, and its like, quick freeze!
Everything dulled down, I survived in the comfort of having a routine. It was calming, it was reassuring, till I remembered my planner like a long lost friend. Like a weird nerd, I was itching to fill pages with plans that made my heart quicken. At a desk, I was in the least form of content. Easy but…not enough.
For the first time, I’m reveling in the unknown. I know I’ll be alright, with some blessing I’ll hopefully be great.
I just checked, and my calendar is full. And it has been full ever since I came back from Melbourne. Absolutely full, no empty boxes.
I love it. But I’m stressed out because adults keep asking me ‘when when when? job? when?’ I’m not wasting my time but I feel guilty because I’m doing other things that isn’t a full-time job. Thats not right. Damn, life is doing more than just having a job! I just graduated for goodness sake leave me alone for a couple of months! everyone! please!