Sometimes, I find it insufferable to be friendly to overly guarded people. It feels like trying to hug a thorn tree. It feels like my efforts are futile. What's worse is when someone thinks my affection is like a chainsaw. I feel like people put teeth on me before they even meet me, and when they do meet me, I feel like there's superglue in the dentures. That gory image stays. I can't find people to get along with. 

I'm totally fine with being wrong. Everyone is wrong at some point in their lives. What's upsetting is that people are quick to dismiss you without having proper footing. I don't understand that; it's so messed up. Prove to me that I'm wrong. Prove to me that you have the knowledge and the skill to put me down. The idea that people find satisfaction in making you feel less-than is disgusting. I'm starting to understand why sometimes I'm not too fond of people's company. 

You seem to come by here and there—clouds to my judgment. I think about how despite so much deprivation, I find joy in the memories I spent with you. It floods in and drains out through my eyes. I remember your face under pink lighting and how enamoured I was. I remember you holding me with care and how when I was broke, you would fix me with urushi lacquer. You finished everything in gold. I admired you for that. Do you remember when you were sleeping close to me? You looked so calm, I wish I could have been the same, but I was restless; In love. I remember feeling unstoppable whenever I felt your breath on my face. I kissed you on the cheek, without a doubt. These days, I don't find myself restless about you. However, I do, on occasion, wonder if you ever think about me. I think about what kind of mistake I was for you. Either way, I was wrong.

You know what smites self-confidence; it's when you can't read what's behind people's faces. I get into my head picking away at myself despite going into my self-analysis with very little information on how a person actually feels. My only indication is a small facial expression that I can only infer as detest or irk. What's vexing is after my analysis, I come to terms with the fact that people are judged based on their outward appearance; it's just embedded in how people interact. I can seclude myself in loathing, but that won't change how things are. I shouldn't let one small ambiguous 'look' define the people I meet or define the rest of my day. 

Today I got to thinking...the world is unfair to those who lack the means of presence or meaning. Is sad to think about how some lives appear like they matter more than others. It's sad to realize that we only ever celebrate the lives and accomplishments of those who have capitalized on self-marketing. What about the voices drowned out by sports coverages, the latest news on fashion, and celebrity flings? As much as social media tries to narrow our view of the world, there are people out there suffering, put in cages eating scraps of opportunity, and slowly dying out from famine, violence, or both. The scope of pain has no borders. I take this time to write to acknowledge that pain. I take this time to write to celebrate the lives of all strangers drowned out by trivial headlines. Everyone's life matters, and there's no distribution or averages; life at its barest is equal.

I'm crazy to think that I can find what I'm looking for when I use you as my frame of reference. Since I've settled with the idea that my treasure is your chest, I fail to realize how empty we both are. My treasure is elsewhere, in some different chest; I will filter through strongholds and endure disappointments until I find it. I want to be able to find treasure, but even If I don't, I'm already living comfortably. These days I'm content with the thought. 

You know what's upsetting about making mistakes; it tends to sully your future expectations. Moreover, it damages your confidence and motivation.   When you've routinized perfection, and suddenly you make a simple deviation that spirals into a tremendous mess, you can't help but tie the severity of that problem to your shortcomings, despite how unproblematic you are. You start avoiding what you love because you no longer believe in your potential for love. Remember that just because you make a mistake, it doesn't mean that's the end-all of what you can achieve; it's only a wall that, if you are able to conquer it, can help you achieve greater heights. You're a fool to settle by the walls when there's an ocean view.  To my love, I'm sorry for my mistake. I'm ashamed to think you are no longer valuable because of a minor blight. I still love you, and changing my mind isn't foreseeable.

It's easy to put stereotypes on people when you're oblivious to the circumstances, pain, and suffering they went through. To be placed in that box of judgment, how horrible. 

There's nothing worse than losing yourself in order to be marketable.

The betterment of your situation drives successful actions. Don't be counterproductive; know why you do something. 

Why? Because you are maladaptive to my state of mind, and it's too much effort and expectations from both sides to change. Let's just get the fuck away from each other's chrysalis and turn over a new leaf.

I no longer want to cling to ideals. It's a waste of time fantasizing about how some biased magical entity will change how things are to how I want things to be. It's never true now, and it will never be true. What's truly magical is escaping this dream of a perfect utopia and realizing the terror. The nightmare of being tied down by your past, chained by the attachment and silenced with microdoses of serotonin. When you know that all the magic you're ever going to need is from you and the fairy of reality inside your head. Everything clicks, and suddenly, you're content.

When you can't look at poverty or even tolerate it, is that not privilege? Nothing can change my mind. I don't see 'being triggered' as a valid reason not to accept reality. Poverty exists even when you're living in your middle-class home in Canada. 

The lights are on because I'm scared. I feel like I'm sinking into my bed. I drank some water to calm my nerves. I took deep breaths in hopes that would help. Naive, my lungs fill with dust. The lining of my throat is itchy; my nose runs. I have a tired mind, still restless. My body floods with all things that can go wrong. My heart is constantly draining out of my eyes. I want nothing more than the satisfaction of sweet dreams.

I ran for the train. I miss. 'It passes.' A gust of wind follows. Cold air dances under my garments. Hairs peaked by the show. The ordeal left chaos in its path. Dust blew in all sorts of ways,  It left me feeling dazed. My lashes failed to catch a bunch. I get cold and teary-eyed, Miserable for a while. Then get over it and smile. I wait for the next train.

I don't know how to act in a way where I reassure someone that they're the only one I have eyes for. I always sense heartbreak and never know what to do about it. I always feel guilty. I could talk to fewer people, but that would make me depressed. I could be more reserved, but it just makes me feel inauthentic. I just wish people trusted in my character. 

There's been someone who's unexpectedly been making me feel all sorts of uncomfortable, but not the the kind where I want to run away—the kind where I want to show all my love and affection. 

Never take life for granted because you won't know when it'll be taken away from you. 

In a perfect world, being compassionate and sympathetic gets you places. Unfortunately, reality shows us that those who care are exploited and abused. 

Don't carry today's and tomorrow's troubles with today's energy; that's too much of a load. 

There are days when I hate being in my skin, days when I feel trapped in a repulsive room, disappointed by the fact that I can't meet my ideals. One thing I have disregarded as a norm is the feeling of discomfort when I see raw images of myself. I'm not fond of the creeping feeling I get when I see my insecurities flaring up. I hide behind fake portrayals to avoid such feelings. Eventually, I fool myself into thinking these fake identities are truths. I'm trying to learn that no person loves themselves one hundred percent, one hundred percent of the time. There's always going to be that one 'thing.' With that said, it's a blessing to have a capable vessel. Despite all the shortcomings of our bodies, we must approach it as we do with a gift, with honest, complete appreciation. 

You would think that I would care by now, but I still don't.  

I always hold myself back because I fear criticism; I fear that people can sometimes be unforgiving of incompetency. I fear that people will not allow me to learn and simply replace me. Today I had a conversation with an industry professional; they shared a snapshot of a time when they felt insecure about their inability to perform. They mentioned that we are conditioned to shame ourselves when we don't know something. It was asserted that we need to tear that social construct down because it's not realistic to know one hundred percent of everything. When you are in the field, you'll be surprised by how eager and willing people are to help you grow your personal and professional identity. Today, I felt that my perspective has grown for the better. I'm going to try to open up more doors for myself. 

The question has always been, how can I be better for someone else? When it should be, how can I be better for myself?

This may sound bizarre or arrogant, but I believe in my voice. A part of me truly believes that my writing is important and that someone out there can benefit from it. I used to think I had a fear of the dark; in reality, I'm scared of the 'null.' I'm afraid of not being able to absorb and feel what the world has to offer. 

Today my heartstrings played to the harsh reality that things always come to an end. I was looking for a fantastical adventure but found something far more unpleasant. I saw an older man, along with an old lady I could only assume to be his wife, cleaning their establishment. It looked to be an oriental restaurant of some sort. The couple's faces looked drained; they seemed to be waiting for a customer that would never come. The scene saddened me because it's difficult to swallow the idea that society can unforgivingly leave you and your passions behind without warning. I thought about how this restaurant makes such a big part of who these two people are, and no one seems to appreciate it. I thought about all the effort placed into their ideals; they probably spent hours trying to perfect recipes, create an inviting space, provide excellent service, etc. It's unfortunate that all an average person can do is wish them luck. I wish there were a little more magic in society.

What makes great leaders is that they can capitalize on one central collective belief. When someone validates our beliefs, that's our tipping point; that's when blood, sweat, and tears pour out.

Expression is a basic need. Like food, without proper amounts, we don't shape up to be the best version of ourselves. My media of expression is writing. I believe that everyday life's chaos and sadness are made easier when in writing.

Selective apathy, I'm having difficulty deciding whether it's a blessing or a curse. By my definition, selective apathy is taking control and choosing to not care about aspects of my daily life that I feel betray me. I think my dilemma stems from the fact that there's a fine line between taking care of myself and avoiding difficult conversations. 

I dreamed of driving a baby blue vintage convertible. I had beautiful beige roofing and classy silver detailing. I remember going down this movie-Esque road on a picture-perfect mountainside with no traffic in sight. I saw unending greenery on my left and towering boulders on my right. The scene felt amazing and surreal; I didn't feel tethered to any expectations and pressures of everyday life.  It was bliss because I felt free. I woke up drooling, not because of the luxury but because I felt light. For a couple minutes in that dream, I didn't have to carry so much. 

    Do you  know what feels absolutely terrific? It's when you no longer put so much pressure on yourself to be a perfect person. No one is perfect. Even Adonises have flaws. One particular thing I think about is my level of competency and intelligence. It's been quite a journey, but I realized that it's stupid to think that you are the only one that's 'stupid'! The status quo is to shun those around us who don't meet the conventional types of intelligence...but why? There's been unnecessary grief I put on myself all my life because I think I am less than those around me because I can't solve something or have difficulty comprehending something. It's so degrading to quantify ourselves. I've learned that life goes beyond just proving your worth to people. Plants don't grow because they feel pressured to. They grow because it's natural. 

Today I feel detached from everything, indifferent to being completely present or not existing at all. It's something adjacent to feeling lost, a little more tragic and severe, Feeling like there's a future where no one will love and care about me. 

If you take time to zoom out and look beyond yourself, the world can be beautiful despite all the shitty things happening right now. The sky is particularly beautiful today.

Today, I learned that shame is not this innately human quality. We were all born with a full sense of confidence. Shame is imposed on us by society. We are victims to a standard. I'm going to choose a path that makes me feel the most like me.