I am having chicken soup. It's warm, but it's not healing my soul.
Nope. Still isn't. I checked. Anyway.
Stephala; thanks for that. You're such a lahling. And such sense you make! Luff you like pigs luff mud! :p
Noreen; thanks for the support, babe. Hope you sort things out. ") Loves.
Jill; I still don't get how I remind you of a pirate. But that would join other things, like Nietzche and sushi. Heh.
Just as a warning, this might be an emo post, so please bear with me. I'm sorting through my debris, my flotsam 'n' jetsam.
This is from a journal entry do-over sent to Big K because she insisted my last one was crap. Everytime I email her, and the sent confirmation page loads, I think: This is it, Rakky. Your fate is sealed.
Anyway, here it is:
"I thought if I were suggestive and cryptic long enough, one {here referring to big k} might extend a line and guess from there. Well, okay, since that didn't work out...
Real Issues.
A Journal Do-over.
Struggling. Don't we do that from time to time? (Yes, I say that to comfort myself.)
You struggle with originality of writing, sometimes because you feel that they're all you have. I often wonder if the actual struggle already contradicts the belief that words are 'all you have'. For some, it comes so easily. Or so it seems.. (Or is that another comfort line?) You again question what you mean by 'all you have'. Why does that phrase come up in desperate attempts to justify yourself? Why does it echo in your head? Why do people cling to what they 'have'?
You wonder so often what has made you, what defines you. If you are a mixture of an inherent nature (which is often assumed to be behind all your responses) and all experiences in life, what stands to define exactly what you are?
People are easily generalised, right? So easily objectified by social labels, anthropology, psychology, psychiatry. Perhaps we're just traveling vats of hormones and H2O. Maybe reduced to electrical synapses and behavioural patterns. Or we could probably be points on graphs, moving in our own circuits forged by predefined axes. So often we forget the wonder that people actually exist and function and relate (or fail to) when dealing, no, being with them.
Digressing from digression, it's what you've been taught that seems to define you. I distinguish this from the stuff of great, or not so great, teachings. Information does not make who you are. Your responses to situations, whether instinctive or carefully calculated, your actions, your words, do. Yet when your basic essence is questionable, you inevitably realise nothing you have is really your own. The morals that you adhere to, if any, are instilled, the judgments you make of people are often conditioned, and the people you love, like, dislike and get annoyed with are reflections of qualities you appreciate or abhor or attempt to emulate in yourself. Predictable people are easy to be around. The language that we use so frequently, understandably even, veers towards clichés because they're safe; they're grammatically, if not so dramatically, correct. The conventional structure of language is comfortable. Effectively, if we are a combination or collection of so much culture, societal constructs and emotional mores, are we merely still swirling mixtures, or new solutions with varying properties, combustions waiting to happen?
All right, I'll admit. Maybe the best way to define an intrinsic nature is to calculate things that one would gravitate towards; hobbies, likes, dislikes, tastes. Which is an answer that was already there, making my questions seem irrelevant. Which additionally makes it seem like the cause to objectify good aesthetic taste (as opposed to it being subjective) seem as worthy as trying bite our own teeth.
Stephala; thanks for that. You're such a lahling. And such sense you make! Luff you like pigs luff mud! :p
Noreen; thanks for the support, babe. Hope you sort things out. ") Loves.
Jill; I still don't get how I remind you of a pirate. But that would join other things, like Nietzche and sushi. Heh.
Just as a warning, this might be an emo post, so please bear with me. I'm sorting through my debris, my flotsam 'n' jetsam.
This is from a journal entry do-over sent to Big K because she insisted my last one was crap. Everytime I email her, and the sent confirmation page loads, I think: This is it, Rakky. Your fate is sealed.
Anyway, here it is:
"I thought if I were suggestive and cryptic long enough, one {here referring to big k} might extend a line and guess from there. Well, okay, since that didn't work out...
Real Issues.
A Journal Do-over.
Struggling. Don't we do that from time to time? (Yes, I say that to comfort myself.)
You struggle with originality of writing, sometimes because you feel that they're all you have. I often wonder if the actual struggle already contradicts the belief that words are 'all you have'. For some, it comes so easily. Or so it seems.. (Or is that another comfort line?) You again question what you mean by 'all you have'. Why does that phrase come up in desperate attempts to justify yourself? Why does it echo in your head? Why do people cling to what they 'have'?
You wonder so often what has made you, what defines you. If you are a mixture of an inherent nature (which is often assumed to be behind all your responses) and all experiences in life, what stands to define exactly what you are?
People are easily generalised, right? So easily objectified by social labels, anthropology, psychology, psychiatry. Perhaps we're just traveling vats of hormones and H2O. Maybe reduced to electrical synapses and behavioural patterns. Or we could probably be points on graphs, moving in our own circuits forged by predefined axes. So often we forget the wonder that people actually exist and function and relate (or fail to) when dealing, no, being with them.
Digressing from digression, it's what you've been taught that seems to define you. I distinguish this from the stuff of great, or not so great, teachings. Information does not make who you are. Your responses to situations, whether instinctive or carefully calculated, your actions, your words, do. Yet when your basic essence is questionable, you inevitably realise nothing you have is really your own. The morals that you adhere to, if any, are instilled, the judgments you make of people are often conditioned, and the people you love, like, dislike and get annoyed with are reflections of qualities you appreciate or abhor or attempt to emulate in yourself. Predictable people are easy to be around. The language that we use so frequently, understandably even, veers towards clichés because they're safe; they're grammatically, if not so dramatically, correct. The conventional structure of language is comfortable. Effectively, if we are a combination or collection of so much culture, societal constructs and emotional mores, are we merely still swirling mixtures, or new solutions with varying properties, combustions waiting to happen?
All right, I'll admit. Maybe the best way to define an intrinsic nature is to calculate things that one would gravitate towards; hobbies, likes, dislikes, tastes. Which is an answer that was already there, making my questions seem irrelevant. Which additionally makes it seem like the cause to objectify good aesthetic taste (as opposed to it being subjective) seem as worthy as trying bite our own teeth.
So why do we cling to what we have? Perhaps it wasn't so much of what are people, or of how to define them, but more of how we define ourselves, re-examining the foundations upon which we base our self-worth on. A false dichotomy hides amongst my verbiage. In a time when comforting yourself that being 'a child of God' just doesn't suffice, you cling to what people have told you as a child is worth striving for, what society recognises; talent, luck, genetic luck (don't we love oxymorons), doggedness, success in what you do.
Bringing in success, of course, is a whole other ball game, for it is where you fail that you relatively succeed.
But because we love happy endings...
True triumph lies in recognising that what you think you're worth is based on possibly false foundations. (Comfort line no. 3947) As Jiahui likes to say, refusing to let numbers on report cards define you. Maybe even slapping yourself into ceasing to waste your time on trying to approximate a price on yourself, and actually doing something worthwhile. (For the good of others! I've volunteered my services to Very Special [yes, a horrible euphemism] Arts.)
Not to gain a sense of ego-stroking of telling myself how selfless I am, because very often I'm not (this passage is proof of that), but because society says it's humanitarian. Therefore, in this seemingly infinite rut of regress (for few can escape society), I am, no, I do. I gladly do.
Parenthetically yours,
Rak{ky}."