There’s always that line of thought that bothers me every time it comes across my head. Thoughts that somehow bury in deep into my core and make me close my eyes, think about it too much, and correlate it to the world – and that world I am referring to are both virtual and real, that at this point, is so complex, that even my own reasoning could not explain every darn thing. Who am I to even explain such rapidly changing events anyway?
It’s a lazy Wednesday afternoon, a pile of term papers to submit for the completion of my Master’s degree sitting right across me, web projects coming in my e-mail as I punch in the keyboard, and the pressure is building. I just recovered from a week of juggling highs and lows of fever, lymphadenitis, annoying headaches, and a loop of uncategorized thoughts and self-analysis, wondering if I am still that “sane” person I was before having been jeopardized by biologically annoying sickness. Whatever I had, it left me lying in bed, feeling sorry for myself, and sparked several ideas, questions over a multitude of questions, and then too many narratives being thrown inside this head of mine.
For a brief moment in solitude, I felt insane.
The staggering number of crazy things lingering in my brain, piling like garbage being thrown elsewhere, reminded me that I am just a regular human being with useful thoughts, with theories about life and the complexities of society, with opinions about the past and current generation, with ideas about the alleviation of poverty, with an identification of patterns of corruption in our government – the very things that people, busy about their lifestyle, could not ever pin down.
Yes, I felt insane.
The web created by the topics swirling in my thought process yielded to more complicated matters.
It is because I never said anything. It is because, at that point when I wanted to explode and share my ideas, I would simply shut my own self down and not say a word. It is because of criticisms of the outside world that kept me locked away from a channel that I can speak my mind. It is because of my uncertainties about the various items that I want to expound on that stopped me from explaining things.
“Useless thoughts don’t deserve to be shared.” I said to myself once.
What am I doing? I don’t intend for people to read my work or to agree with every single blase comment I say. I don’t intend for people to form a group and say my name with pride because there’s nothing much really to advertise. I don’t intend for people to give up what they have just to follow me. I don’t intend to be heard but I just want what’s inside my head to be released. Frankly, I don’t even mind if I am the only audience I have.
As long as it would not end up like a stockpile of thoughts, I am more than happy to simply “express.” That’s the perfect term – like in therapy, not like I have been to any, but in pyschology, it’s always being used.
But this is important to me. It is as important as breathing. I can hear my own thoughts and I want to say them and write them down but I was timid or more appropriately, I am too preoccupied with other “more important life stuff.” The need to excrete random brain farts is crucial to me as a budding creative, that as I type and go along the free flow of thoughts, I am relieved of the building topics in my head. Most are nothing interesting. However, it feels good to let it all out.
I do not even know where to begin to unload all of these bullshit things flying inside my creative brain. I do not know what to talk about or if I should talk about a particular odd topic – take for example the dilemma of expounding about literal human fart and how the “fartee” (if that’s even a legitimate term) likes the smell of his/her own gas product.
It is stupid, I know. That’s just one. Imagine the rest of the ideas in my head – some of them maybe stupid but some are very simple it will make you rethink your life (I’m not talking about religion or anything). The more appropriate thing to say here is that the ideas that I have in my head will make you rethink your life principles. Life principles – yes, better.
Now, it’s going somewhere.
Why am I writing this thing anyway? The answer to the question is straightforward – “I am tired of having the same shitty things in my head on repeat so I am deciding (I have decided, actually) to talk about it in order to free myself from my own brain prison.” Plain and simple, “it is better to have ideas written and recorded – that’s an alternative answer to my own question.”
I just grew up and matured, that’s all. If my 18-year-old self were to look at this article, I’d say that this is junk and should be thrown immediately. I’m sorry. But I am already 26 years old, alive for more than a quarter of a century – that’s a personal achievement. Knowing things and realizing things are innate in me that I do it most of the time. I don’t blame anyone. It is just how I am wired, I think.
Experience and personal reflections lead me to formulate theories and principles that I believe I was incapable of doing. I underestimate myself all the time. It’s the dark grey area underneath the bubbly persona I have always projected. Nevertheless, it does not change who I am or what I have in mind.
A Quarter Life Crisis
I would omit the term “crisis” since I am nowhere near being in a place where I am in danger nor of great difficulty. In research though, it is normal for young adults like me to have one – although I still think this is not it. Peers my age say that it’s a turning point or a phase in their lives that make them question their decisions before moving onto the next level of life.
F-words are coming. “Fart” would fit naturally but it does not have that right kick of expression.
What the fuck?! This life is not a Mario Brothers game. There is no Princess to save at the very end, no rainbow stars to shield yourself from evil mushrooms and flying turtles. There are no levels. People magically put “levels” in society to make it a norm. Why? When suddenly you don’t fit in, then you feel obligated to step up your game and perform like the rest of the peers your age. No. What the fuck is wrong? Everything is wrong. Looking at it from a myriad of perspectives, every single darn thing is wrong – the whole system is wrong.
To contradict my own argument, everything in this world is “right” that when people deviate from the norm, it is considered wrong. The question now is “Who the fuck tells us that what we are doing is wrong?” Oh yes. It’s that invisible force/creepy ghost voice in society that tells us we are “fucking” things up and we don’t perform well. It is to no surprise that the very society that we, human beings, created, is the very society that can crush its entirety because of an invisible force.
That’s the world I am living in. It sucks.
I question everything not because I just feel like interrogating. I question everything because I am not sold out with the idea of it. Things rapidly change and seeing things differently, probably with a new set of eyes, opened several doors and windows of opportunity for change – and for that to happen, one must question. It’s a matter of curiosity and skepticism, not an egotistical boost to prove that I am better. No, never like that. In science, I believe it’s called “scientific inquiry.” But those terms make me feel like I am doing a covert experiment in a lab with a clean laboratory coat. Hell no. I ask questions because I am human and I need to know.
Hey, maybe I just read too much or that I was subconsciously programmed by the internet (aka “brainwashed”) to think the way that I do now. It is annoying. Typing all these thoughts and anticipating what to say next annoys me to an extreme level because first of all, I am not a writer. Before, I thought I was a good writer though. Now, I don’t really know what qualifies me as being “good” because there’s no benchmark for that – except maybe of course grammar and organization of thoughts. But how on earth will I be able to organize all these passing and floating thoughts when all they do the entire time is run around my headspace?
To be honest, this is not an intelligent choice of voice. I have never used this type of tone in writing. I never wanted to include “fuck” in my vocabulary but three-year-old kids use it now (of course, it’s a lame excuse but I talk like this is real life – not curse a lot, but mere expression of making a point). That’s probably the reason why I think I suck at that area. I try not to fuck it up when I write articles, so I use a “safer” voice which involves a highfaluting vocabulary, flowery words, and the creative use of narration and description. Who would have thought I would use “fuck” countless times in this piece? Well, that’s the real brain – the underlying layer that I have guarded for so long because I am always concerned about how people would perceive me if I use “this” language rather than “that” language.
I haven’t written anything delightful for several months. I have penned down informal ones in my journal and saved drafts in my websites but I could never force myself to publish them all. I thought, at that time, it is okay to let it stagnate in the drafts until the day I die. But I guess it won’t because I recently downloaded everything (even from blogs that I had in 2006) and I hope to digitize every thought that I have by next year – including random ideas on coffee shop table napkins.
It’s that self-imposed pressure that is killing me – although nobody required me to publish anything at a certain amount of time. Maybe I am just saying this because my brain is overworked due to the weekly paper reviews I have to read and the 2000-word essays that I have to discuss about science and technology. Again, that’s my own pressure.
The term I used is “overwhelming” because I could not keep up to my own goals and objectives. Year after year, I am conceptualizing and executing online and offline projects which I find more difficulty to maintain as time goes on. It’s a chaotic environment inside my head, thinking of 20 specific details in half a second – color scheme for web design projects, proofs for a copy to be published on a client’s site, website interactions, master’s thesis presentation, aquaculture projects, painting exhibit lineup, painting shipments, site maintenance, parents’ and relatives’ health, annoying pseudo-boyfriend calls (which I think is useless when he simply assumes that we’re together because clearly we’re not – and might never be), not to mention monthly accounting of income and expenses. I feel like it’s a bit too much but on a side note I feel like it simply lacks organization.
Or maybe I just need a big break from all these.
Or maybe next time I just have to breathe in deep and exhale deeper?
No. It does not work. But this “mental explosion” of thoughts sure helped. I hope no one would finish reading this 2000-word useless brain fart.
If you have reached this end of the post, please do drop me a thought-provoking comment. If not, thank God you weren’t able to read through everything because I seriously just need to get all these “blah” out of my system.
I feel better now. It’s like being constipated for so long that it is only today that I was able to have those ridiculous filthy things out.
Welcome to my mind.