June 07, 2009


My mind is full of inexplicable babble. A thought here elicits a momentary burst of emotion, which is gone as soon as the next thought sharpens into focus. So I am here now, each second bringing on a different feeling. I feel it all. I’m going to burst.

The summer sits long and winding ahead of me, like some sort of beast with scales and long limbs that go off all over the place. I sit here, right now, in the biggest rut of my life (so far). It’s far from the end of the world, but when I first landed here, an alien in my own life, it felt pretty close to it.

(I’m a pretty melodramatic person, though. I’m glad I can keep that sort of perspective despite all of this.)

I'm still hanging on to my map of the world, though, although I see it needs some major redrawing.

At the moment, nothing feels better than to close in on myself. I’ve been exceedingly retiring in nature. I don't want to talk to anybody, and there are certain people I absolutely dread talking to. But for some odd reason, I inwardly cry out for someone else to be there. Someone whom I vaguely know, but honestly don’t really have a clue about. But their face is a mix of all those I don't want to see.

I would like to simplify my predicament by saying simply that I am strong of mind, but weak of flesh, but better judgment tells me that
1. things are never that simple, and
2. body and mind are one

so how can they possibly act independently of one another?

and if so, then why am i here?

In this past week, a lot has come to my attention. Biting cultural issues that have nipped at my heels for my entire life and can no longer be ignored. Questions about my own will and strength and independence, and how they've changed so much in the past year. Doubts on my own ideas of character and what it means to be strong, for myself and for others.

I don't know how to tackle all of these in a way that will make sense to me, other than to write about them. And no medium is perfect for such as this. This is the reason I keep it; I don't really expect others to read it (although I do love it when people take the time to), but it's more of a thing for me-- it's my pensive of sorts. Something I can look back on at leisure to see if there are patterns in actions or events, because there's only so much my mind can recall when I want to remember something in its entirety.

This summer will not be a loss because I am determined to make it full. Full of reading about American politics and trying to decide if I really want to be a politics minor. Full of finally getting around to reading all those popular science books I never had time for during the school year. Full of making music. Full of writing. Full of ice skating with my sister, barbecuing with my dad and cooking with my mom. Full of learning how to keep my head up high while swimming in this rut.

It's hard these days, and the hurt from everything, while not fresh, still has the power to be debilitating. Some days I have a better hold over it, and it only hurts if I let it. Other days, not so much. I don't wallow so much as hate the fact that I wake up feeling that my bed is too big but I'm going to suffocate.

But I've never been one to go down without a fight, and by God, am I fighting.