Here I am on a Saturday morning sitting on my bed in an empty room trying to do something. I think about calling her up, but she is busy now. I think about watching a movie, but I cannot make up my mind. I think about playing my guitar, or figuring out the Rubic's cube. I think about a lot of things and the last thing I think about makes me open up my blog.
What was the last thing I thought about then? Well, it was a vague little feeling mixed with laziness (the laptop is at an arms stretch), sadness (really have no clue where that came from), happiness (I am pretty rich, I should be happy right?), hunger and something I would call nostalgia. Yes, that is pretty much it.
Sometimes I have had feelings that I cannot describe myself. Sometimes I don't feel anything at all. This is one of the former times. I am not sure what I am feeling, but am definitely not feeling nothing. As I sit on my bed looking outside I can see a huge building full of little flats. I can see little children swinging on the swing. I can two others playing on a slide. I can see a bird fly by. I can see an old man sitting still near the playing children. I light a cigarette.
You see, by lighting a cigarette I am claiming I am not affected by what I see. I claim to be macho and carefree. But somewhere deep inside me, like very deep, pitch dark and not visible to the naked eye, lies a little child wanting to sob and go outside and play. Wanting to sob at all the bad things I have done and beg forgiveness from all the people I have hurt. The weakest part of me I hide so well.
The point is however, not the empowerment of women, nor the RTI, nor making silly wisecracks at my namesake, no, none of that. The point is, well, I really don;t know. I have no point to make. I am just homesick.
Just something I read the other day: "We are born alone in this world, live alone, die alone, love just creates the illusion we are not."
What was the last thing I thought about then? Well, it was a vague little feeling mixed with laziness (the laptop is at an arms stretch), sadness (really have no clue where that came from), happiness (I am pretty rich, I should be happy right?), hunger and something I would call nostalgia. Yes, that is pretty much it.
Sometimes I have had feelings that I cannot describe myself. Sometimes I don't feel anything at all. This is one of the former times. I am not sure what I am feeling, but am definitely not feeling nothing. As I sit on my bed looking outside I can see a huge building full of little flats. I can see little children swinging on the swing. I can two others playing on a slide. I can see a bird fly by. I can see an old man sitting still near the playing children. I light a cigarette.
You see, by lighting a cigarette I am claiming I am not affected by what I see. I claim to be macho and carefree. But somewhere deep inside me, like very deep, pitch dark and not visible to the naked eye, lies a little child wanting to sob and go outside and play. Wanting to sob at all the bad things I have done and beg forgiveness from all the people I have hurt. The weakest part of me I hide so well.
The point is however, not the empowerment of women, nor the RTI, nor making silly wisecracks at my namesake, no, none of that. The point is, well, I really don;t know. I have no point to make. I am just homesick.
Just something I read the other day: "We are born alone in this world, live alone, die alone, love just creates the illusion we are not."
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