Maybe I do regret having been so revealing about certain emotions, though hardly spoke of details on aspects of life in which they sprung. According to academic papers, I can’t seem to write well enough and there’s nothing impressive here. Basically, this blog is my expressive form of self. I’m not much of an artist or poet or something worth seeing/hearing or such, but this is just mine. If I could find a productive way to take these deep thoughts of mine, of human nature that I tend to explore in order to explain myself to myself, there would be something. I have an understanding of things that other people don’t, and I am able to see things people are not normally exposed to, nor would ever choose to be. Writing random thoughts here just seems pointless though, yet I do it. Why? It’s just for me to sit down and actually get stuff written for myself. Though I don’t really read back much and surprised people actually read it, it’s just something I have and do every now and then.

To the expression I write, I write in frustration because I can’t even talk to an actual human being about things. For some things I won’t, though allusions are made here, and for other things I do have here are just thoughts not meant to be personally shared. Otherwise it just feels like I’m silent and isolated from others. I can’t even talk to anybody about things. Yeah, I do want to hear what I could do about things. I’ve always managed to figure things out on my own and come and managed on my own. I’m an independent person in that way, but it’s so restricting because as a social creature, as human, I have to connect, and must do so because it is the world in which I live. Connecting is not comforming, but essential in some complex way.

Okay, frustrations. For one, I can’t talk about what’s bother me. I can’t talk about how I’m really doing in school less than how I should be doing. I can’t talk about home and family because no one really asks or anyone really gets to know me. In addition, I don’t even want to talk about it. I can’t talk about how bad things are getting and hardly even getting better. It’s not all about drama that I have to talk about and what’s on my mind. I can’t even talk about what makes me happy. What I really like to do. What I like or don’t like. I don’t get to know people enough to even get to know me. I mean, no one knew my birthday until they saw it on a calendar. I mean, does anyone really know me? No. Does anyone want to? Not that I want that or anything. Just to show that I really don’t have a solid connection. I’m forced to think it’s all me, and I accept that. I can’t be the person that I guess is likeable. It’s more than that. I’m just tired of being polite and having mundane conversations that don’t get anywhere much.

I don’t tell people my birthday because my friends already know it because they got to know me. That’s not a fair indicator of friendship. I’m not the type to announce it or celebrate myself. I mean, I’ll plan something with my friends, but now I am actually questioning who my friends are. Who are they? What does it take to be a friend? I’ve made many references to “little things” in these blogs, and that’s the fundamental nature of them. It’s not the big things you do for somebody, but it’s the little things in between you do. If I had an older brother or something, I would have enjoyed hanging out like brothers do or just chill at home or something rather than having him come over every holiday or something. A lot of things aren’t valued as much until they are gone, when it is missed. I am arguing that the “big things in life,” say the brother coming for Thanksgiving, as a “big impact,” but a low duration. The little things are constant, therefore high duration, and those add up even more of value than say something big. From this fundamental idea, there’s so much detail that I would spare the pages to examine.

I don’t have to talk about drama. It’s just that even if something cool happened to me, I can’t talk about it. I mean, I don’t have anybody to talk to about it. I don’t have a lot of chances to talk about umm....any interests I have about people or something. What’s going on with my life? Am I having fun? Enjoying? What’s the coolest thing of the day? All sorts of things that I could just be excited to get out. Something mutual. I don’t know, it’s just more than the politeness, but something meaningful.

I need to question who my friends are now. I mean, as cold as it may be, it’s necessary. I can’t be walked on all over by people in general. Not everyone is cruel, but the cost of cruelty bears more burdens than the relief of kindness. Kindness has to overbear cruelty in order for optimism to thrive. I can’t be stepped on and not even have the means to heal myself. I can’t be stepped only to be stepped on more often than ever being helped up. And another thing, to be helped up is a relief from a burden, but to be walked with is more valuable. If you think of it in math and number terms, thing of a negative number, and to be helped up is to take it back to zero. How’s neutral a good feeling? It’s neutral. Now take it up to the positive side, and that’s where the good feeling is.

Oh yeah, the point. Yeah, frustrating that I can’t even speak, that I am practically silenced and in the dark. Oh, to think of it, silence is a reference to one of the projects that I helped head last year. This is a feeling of it, something I know a lot of people go through sometime in their lives, but only a few would go through something more than the average person. I’m not an average person, and I surely think, feel, experience things that other people don’t; though I do emphasize everyone is unique, people are alike if they have similar circumstances or experiences, something remotely related and relevant. I would argue this feeling is complex and to view it as an inexperienced—of who had never had it or not had it in a very long time—lacks understanding of the intricate ways in which some people live their lives upon things they have no control over. While many seek a commonality of experiences in attempts to invalidate an extreme affair, it is a contradiction to the uniqueness of a person, to their actual experiences that they themselves would know better than anyone is. In other words, it is invalid for someone to disregard an experience and say so many people go through that without understanding the person considerably and relating significantly and superficially or irrelevantly.

I ramble and ramble pages about nothing. Well, my feelings, but I’m the only one that carries them. I wish I didn’t have to feel so alone like this.