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[samjdg]

Colorful Stick

The illusion of freshness, and a new chapter in a non-existent book. The feeling that everything horrible that happened is left behind between the dusty pieces of the past even though they all were on your shoulders just a couple of hours ago. Fireworks going off, children screaming, fake and real snowflakes mixing in the air. The lights turning on and off, torturing easily irritated people, vibrant colors swarming off.

Rene took her eyes off the window and took a deep breath. She was watching the whole thing like it was happening in the next-door dimension. She was seeing everything, hearing them, unfortunately by the way. However, she was not feeling it. She was more like a New Year ghost coming to observe the whole thing without being able to interact with reality.

It was the 31st of December again. It was a duty rather than a holiday to her. Everything seemed to go in the opposite direction though, it was backwards. For everybody, this day represented a new beginning, a chance to push off the negativity. For her, it was a replay button for everything she wanted to get rid of.

It was even funny to her to some extent, what were people celebrating exactly? Exactly, nothing. Because she believed, it had a certain special meaning to each person. Everyone believed it to be something special, some source of motivation, reminder, energy, hope. Just in a weird way, the people, the same people having stupid fights and wars because of in and out-group biases, managed to agree on one day to celebrate their hope. A desperate attempt to feel solidarity in this widely divided society, with people who have the same problems shaped in millions of different ways. Seeking warmth in the arms of crystal white snow.  

Rene was one of those people with pink glasses, ignoring their inner screams of agony and shouting with joy to be louder than their demons. It is how people were wired, after all. They needed a day off, otherwise, they would go insane thinking about everything that was wrong with themselves and everything else. There was too much cruelty in the world, too much hate, what was wrong with picking a few days, declaring them special and having fun? If it was what it took to make people happy for even a few hours, then the hell with it, why not?

None of this was bothering Rene. But every single person having fun with their stupid fireworks and all was like stepping on her toes. No, that is a ridiculous comparison. To Rene, every single person having fun with their stupid fireworks was using her pain as a source of their pleasure. They were enjoying as much as she was suffering. Rene would like to go to every person, grab them by their collars and scream at each one. Although there were too many people, and none of them would understand. Having a voice, yet not being heard. The tall buildings, the whole celebration was swallowing her. People were shielding themselves with everything fake, starting from objects to emotions. They were becoming deaf while hearing, and blind while seeing. It was making Rene feel so powerless. She tried though, she tried to scream at people to cut it out. She could not get a single person to stop, however. The day it happened she tried her best to change someone’s mind about the whole thing, nonetheless, she saw nothing but emptiness in every pair of eyes that she stared.

It was the New Year. She took her best friend and went for a walk together to celebrate it. To enjoy the colors, music, the snow. Her friend was particularly afraid of loud noises. But it was okay because, at that hour, almost nobody was using the fireworks yet. Everyone was saving their exploding toys for the big countdown.

She was not exactly fond of this chaos, because the noises were always scaring her best friend. But they were spending every noisy holiday together and she was managing to calm her best friend down. This was not pleasant, but they were managing to go through it with grace. They were hoping this one would not be any different.

Rene bought a pretzel to eat and sat down on a bench to look around and feel small in the face of huge colorful trees all around. Then she decided to play a game with her friend. Her name was Lucy. Lucy got so excited about it. She was always so friendly and generally excited about pretty much everything. Those were only a few of the reasons why Rene loved her so much.

She took a branch of a tree from the ground and threw it away. Lucy ran after it even before the branch fell down. She went, took it and brought it back, and they kept doing it until Rene was finished with her pretzel. Then as it was approaching the countdown, they got going. After a few blocks, she noticed a couple of teenagers giggling in the corner. But for some reason, it did not really give out a positive vibe. Rene tried to ignore it and just kept walking. Then Lucy noticed a colorful stick on the ground and Rene did not even have enough time to tell her off. There were red lines and drops on the snow like a painting on canvas. Those teenagers started running still laughing even louder. Rene was filled by murderous rage but there was no time to lose. She took her best friend and called a taxi to go to the nearest veterinary.

They tried a lot but Lucy was small and, the exposure was big for her little body. She could not take it.

That was something that nobody with a sane mind could easily forget. Let alone if that is the best friend.

Rene kept celebrating the new year though, but in a different way. At every holiday in which the place was turning into the colorful warzone of fireworks she was trying to gather all the stray animals around her block, give them food, and keep them somewhere safer so they would not be afraid. In the New Year, she tried extra hard. She would go around collecting the firework stuff from the ground with tools, for hours. Some of them even exploded and in every blow, she was relieving the red painting on the snow. Everybody was wondering why a crying girl was picking up the litters from the ground on every New Year. She would get her friends to do it too. So in this way, they could make a tiny difference in the world deaf to the screams of everything that was not human.

She did not put up the new year decoration, and her family would respect it. She was always decorating their tree though because Lucy loved it. She was trying to raise awareness about the fireworks’ effect on animals too, with posters, articles, informing people one by one. Whatever it took. But it did not deny the fact that there was always some little dog or cat trembling, making sad noises, some of them getting injured too.  

However, she knew she could not stop. It was the New Year. She had to get up, decorate the tree, pick up the fireworks, go and give out the informative brochures to her neighbors. At 00:00, gather the stray animals and keep them somewhere closed and warm. The next day take the injured animals to the vet.

The New Year Eve, it meant something special, different to every person. And the same terror to every breathing thing that was not human.

Based on the prompt: “ Write a short story about someone with unconventional New Year's traditions”. Taken from: https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/

[samjdg]

Shine Brighter

Oppression has too many deadly consequences, but the silent, subtler ones are the ones which break your heart into the sleepless nights. Can you remember a moment when somebody accepted you as you were, and your eyes got watered? Do you remember a time when someone did not discriminate against you because of your gender or sexuality when they had an obvious chance to that made you feel just so grateful?

You know we should not feel like this, right? We should not feel thankful for not getting disrespected. It should be how we get treated every day by everyone. However, we are conditioned to feel less, to believe less, to see less and to expect less. So that a single act of basic human decency leaves us in tears, reminding us that we could live in a world where we did not have to worry about getting misgendered, invalidated, kicked out.

Today when my mom and aunt were talking about marriage, they were talking about a typical “woman and man” marriage as always. I am a non-binary female, and my mom knows that. I have not had this conversation with my aunt, but I guess my mom has informed her too, in order to protect me from getting misgendered by her on a daily basis. None of them understands it, but they try not to hurt me, so they kind of play along. My orientation, on the other hand, is not that welcomed. I have come out to my mom as pansexual a while ago. She knows I can fall in love with a woman too, which scares her. She used to talk in a way that would ignore that part of my identity, in a way that I was only into boys even though she knew it was not the case. I really do not take much offense in this kind of things anymore, but it touches something in your heart. It leaves a small mark. It whispers in your ear in your sweetest moments that, you are not truly, entirely accepted, and your parent prays to god for some parts of your identity to “go away”. That there are parts of you that your loved ones hope would get erased. Even though those parts of you are really harmless, normal, and nothing to be ashamed of. But you learn to feel ashamed of the things that you are not even responsible for.

Today, my mom mentioned “well, I do not know what they will end up with actually. Will it be really a “husband”?” And she did not have an angry tone, it was like she was joking. She was seriously mentioning it in a normal, funny way. Like she was supposed to do. I was not used to that. I am not used to that. I am not used to being accepted without getting a whole discussion first. I am not considered as an “okay person” without having all my choices questioned. Not that she has not questioned me before, she has. But still. That sweet taste of acceptance. The first time I had it, was when I heard her correct my aunt about my gender identity. It was such a thrilling moment of freedom. Being regarded as “normal” despite having a whole world outside against you, willing to tear you into shreds for not accepting what my body had to offer me. When everyone around was discussing whether you “exist” or not, your mom correcting another family member to respect you, was a powerful moment.

Later on, when they commented on guys and said I might like one of those boys one day, I said “No, that is not what I want. I showed you what I wanted.” Because even though I thought I was pansexual, I have realized I might actually be homosexual, or I am just in a period where I am only into females. However, my sexuality is my business only, and I like females right now. I had shown her an image of what society would call “androgynous female”. I said that was what I wanted.  She did not answer, and all the thrill of acceptance flew away with the awkward silence she gave me. Because somehow, no matter what I do, me being truly, completely, unapologetically myself was not something that could ever be welcomed. It was a source of shame to love a woman. Oddly enough, in this conservative society, hitting one is not viewed as a big of a problem. But if you are a female, loving another female, you are the sinner of the sinners, dirtiest of all. Something that could not be cleaned, or forgiven. That was gross. Me being happy was gross for someone who was supposed to want only the best for me.

This kind of oppression is usually dismissed and unnoticed. You cannot discuss what you are looking for in a partner with your parents like everybody else does. You cannot tell jokes in family gatherings about your relationships. You cannot introduce yourself with your real name, and real pronouns to people when you meet them if you are transgender. A part of the human experiences is taken away from you. You do not get to experience life like others do. Why? Why is it such heartbreak for my mother that I like females? That I do not identify as something socially constructed based on my reproductive organs. Why have I considered a failure for just being myself? Why do my parents ask questions like “where did we do wrong?”, “what went wrong during the upbringing?”. Because I am some consequence of a mistake. My existence was a mistake. You might not get psychologically and physically abused on a daily basis for being queer in my family, but you always keep these little things with you wherever you go. Being an uncompleted person that was not supposed to turn out that way.

However, fellas, I am trying to be myself as unapologetically as possible, I hold my head high no matter how terrible things go through my mind. I hide some emotions when exposing them might put me under danger, but I try to be as open and honest as I can without getting hurt. We have to take precautions, unfortunately. Our safety is important. This world can label me as “weird”, “queer”, “abnormal”, even a “mistake”. But you know what? We are weird, we are queer, we will own every single label, and wear them like crowns. If I am a mistake, I am the most beautiful mistake that my parents could ever make. I deserve a decent life, and I will do everything to get it. I will love myself with all my heart and gather people around me who are capable of loving me. We will not be defined by those labels. We will define those labels.

[samjdg]

Psychomotor retardation

Maybe if I write about how I feel, it can make it easier to deal with. Or maybe I am just coming up with things to be able to procrastinate even further. I cannot stop this. I did not go to work today and said that I could work from home. I did not go to school either, because I was supposed to prepare for my exam. But the fact is, I have not done any work, and I have not even started to prepare for my exam. Even writing these things right now causes me unbearable pain. I am paralyzed and I cannot get myself to do anything. And the more I am delaying the inevitable work that I am supposed to do, the more it freaks me out. My anxiety grows every second that I am wasting instead of studying but I cannot help it. I cannot open that stupid file and start reading. It looks like the most difficult work in the world to me. I feel so nervous, uncomfortable, exhausted and completely paralyzed.

It gets like this before every exam. Only this time I have a workload too. It is exhausting to have multiple breakdowns in every month before every responsibility. I feel like I am not in control and I am unable to fix it. I cannot stop feeling like this. I have been at home for a week or more because of the holiday, but I have not done anything that I enjoy. I hate my university and major, but I love psychology, I used to take online courses and read books about it. I used to draw almost every day, I love drawing and I am not too bad at it. I love writing stories, doing research. But all the time I was at home, all I did was watching tv series to volume down the freak out rising in my head. I have shut myself down not to think about anything real, anything about my life. I do not take an interest in anything that I enjoyed doing. I have stopped going to social events, doing things that bring me joy. All I have done has been to mute my thoughts. To keep me stable, to keep me from having another anxiety attack where I overthink every detail about my life and choices and fall into a tremendous panic about my unknown future. I did anything that could keep me from collapsing. Any moment that my computer screen went black, I just recharged it, I have been desperately looking for things to watch, and when I could not find, I slept. I slept for long hours, and I only left my room for the bathroom and to get food. Even my interaction with my family has been minimum as possible.

Getting myself out of the bed in the morning is the hardest exercise I have ever tried. It is just pointless and too much to endure. To face another day looks huge and like a scary challenge. Another day to waste, another day to feel sorry for myself and looking for ways to stop thinking about the things that matter.

But now, I do not get to do this, because I am not on holiday anymore, I am in the exam period. The lessons and subject that I despise and never paid attention to in classes. I only go to university because I had to finish my bachelor. I would stop going to that place if I knew any better. I am on scholarship, I do not pay tuition fees. But if I want to change major, I want to study abroad because the education system in my country is less than satisfactory, I will have to pay for myself and I cannot. I have to get a scholarship but for a bachelor’s degree, it is so hard. I used to look for opportunities every day, it was the only thing giving me hope but now I have stopped searching. I do not think I can do it any longer.

If I leave university now, I do not know what else I can do with my life. At least I can get a diploma in that way, even though I do not know how the diploma from the major that I hate will help me in any way. I am sure there is a way to make sense out of this. But I am too tired to try. I cannot feel that hope, fire, and desire in my chest anymore. I do not have any power to push me towards another day. I have nothing to expect from a new week. I am just done with everything and I need peace. Quietness. I want everything and everyone to leave me alone. Everything that I do is part of a routine like a robot. Like I am programmed. I do not do anything that makes me feel alive. I do not remember the last time I felt alive. I do not know if I have ever been happy to be alive.

To take these fears with me in every step of the way, freaking out about every detail constantly while suffering from lack of energy that is needed just to have lunch is too much to bear for a life that does not give me anything to hope for at this point. I am questioning myself every day. Why am I still here? Why aren’t I stopping this? Am I waiting for something? I used to tell myself that I was waiting for something good to happen, I was looking for a chance and I was going to try everything to turn this around. I do not know if I am still waiting. I do not know why I still go through this. It is all mechanical at this point.

Sometimes I catch little glimpses of hope, that maybe, just maybe, I can get a hold of myself and do something to make things better. But it fades away sooner than a snowflake would melt on my fingertips. I am just not alive enough now, I am not human enough. The worst is that I feel sorry for myself. I feel sorry for wasting my youth hating my life. These should be the most exciting and beautiful and crazy years of my existence. I have ruined my teenage years thinking about suicide, for years I haven’t found a way to stop this. Does it make sense to hope for it now?

I am just tired. I cannot open my mouth and talk about it. I cannot even get myself to stand up and stay still. I want to get in my bed, cover myself with my blanket from head to toe and hopefully never open my eyes again.

[samjdg]

Are you gay or something?

Every day I see different views and opinions, information about LGBTQIA+ in the films that I watch, in real life etc. Some are interesting, some ridiculous, some unfair and some have quite a potential to evoke aggression. The discussions about LGBTQIA+ people have started to cover more than just their lifestyles, choices and problems, now those topics have been turned into entertainment by some cisgender heterosexual individuals who have not understood the whole concept. How?

One of the queer films that I watched caused me quite discomfort. But the fact that I could not find anyone who had already started a discussion about those certain scenes in the movie upset me even more. The name of the movie: Alex Strangelove. Maybe you have heard or even watched. Did you sense something strange while watching too?

Alex, who loves his girlfriend as a person so much, realises that he does not have any sexual desires towards her. All friends of this high school student already had sexual experiences, therefore he gets slightly mocked for not feeling ready for it yet. His girlfriend, Claire, complains about Alex not letting her to devirginize him in front of his friends. Even though everything was quite unethical till this point, what happens after that cannot be excused as foolishness of teenage kids. Not physically or sexually, but Claire starts to pressure Alex psychologically into having sex. As a result, young boy, with the thought that “he is supposed to want it just like other guys”, tries to prepare himself mentally. During the film, Alex’s doubts about his sexuality, frustration and discomfort have been portrayed clearly. Near the end of the film, two teenagers meet at the hotel and start their attempts. However, it does not work out as they planned and Alex admits he cannot do it, eventually gives up. Claire insists on getting an explanation for Alex’s lack of interest in having sex with her and asks the famous question when she cannot get what she wants: “Are you gay?”

The thing is, Alex did like another boy in the movie, but is that really so simple? It is not very rare either in films or real life to see that boys are automatically assumed to be gay when they show lack of interest in having sex with a girl. Sentences like “If he does not fancy you, then he is gay” are probably familiar to most of us. Who are the ones facing the unjust behaviour here?

A boy does not and should not need an excuse or any dramatic cause not to want to have sex. If he does not want it, then he does not want it and that should not be up for discussion. Saying things like “all boys love sex”, “no boy can say “no” to a girl” limits the freedom and comfort of men, and in most cases have the potential to result in a rape case where a boy is a silent victim.  

But I will talk about it in more details in other blog posts. What I want to focus on here is the point that some heterosexual people put other sexual orientations and gender identities in a sort of subcategory or in an unimportant position. When someone cannot accept being regarded as “uninteresting” or “unattractive” by the opposite sex, they label those particular opposite sex members as “gays” and “lesbians” most of the time. The aftermath of those labels, and its effect on the sexuality and lives of those people is a heavy issue.

For another example you can watch first few episodes from the first season of “Shameless”. I have to note that media portrays most guys as gays when they refuse to have sex with a girl. In many movies, the rejection by a boy is justified as homosexuality as if it can be the only logical explanation. This kind of misrepresentation in media gives a wrong message to people and normalises the wrong attitude towards people’s sexualities, in most cases, boys’ sexualities.  

In the Netflix TV series named “Sense8”, the girl comes to her colleague’s house drunk even though the boy had rejected her the very same day. The boy keeps saying that he does not want to do it, however the girl tries to undress him, and she takes her own clothes off too. This disturbing scene where she keeps following him around trying to touch him inappropriately continues until she finds out that this guy actually has a boyfriend. And I have never seen anyone on internet referring to that scene as sexual harassment.

Gay people do not exist for heterosexual people, so that they can handle the rejection from the opposite sex better and protect their fragile ego. It is absurd to associate the lack of interest in sexual activity with someone only with the lack of interest in the entire gender (sex in this case).

The same girl also takes pictures of those boys having sex and even masturbates watching them in some episode.

A new method I have recently learned about is that some girls tell the boys who would not stop texting them that they are actually trans women, when in   reality they are cisgender. They are saying so to get rid of the people who keep annoying them. How ethical do you think it is? As most guys stop texting them after believing that the girl, they have been talking to is trans, this method is considered “successful”. But in what cost? Thinking that the boy will stop texting her once he is convinced, she is a trans woman, and using the prejudice and discrimination against trans women in this way for personal benefit. Is it acceptable? Isn’t that normalising and supporting a system in which trans women are not considered “real women”, and are acknowledged as “chick with a dick”? And when you ask them why they do it, why to lie about being trans, they say “they had to” like it is the only way. Even if it is the only way it still cannot justify the exploitation of LGBTQIA+ community.

I am not even close to finishing this. “The gay best friend” myth that goes around in media is disturbing, some girls thinking that having a gay side kick will get them free fashion advice etc. Reducing the value of the human being and acknowledging them as a contributing factor to their life, or some tool that can make their lives more interesting. Fetishizing LGBTQIA+ people is also very common and equally unacceptable. Those kinds of behaviours create an atmosphere in which being cisgender and heterosexual is absolute and the only “normal” state of a human being, and all other possible options are just the ways to add some colours to the main picture.

LGBTQIA+ are not here to make heterosexual people’s lives more comfortable or enjoyable, and any kind of use, abuse and exploitation of existing situation should be considered as homophobia and bigotry.

Hey, I am a boy and I am not gay. I would love to have sex with a girl, JUST NOT WITH YOU. Deal with it.

Or

I am a boy, and I just don’t feel like it right now. Period.

(feel free to add to this list)

[samjdg]

I swear some people talk about human rights and pretend to be a human rights activist just because it is so popular these days.

[samjdg]

Man on His Period

There was shame somewhere behind his eyes. Doubts were surrounding and hugging him like nothing and no one else had ever done. He was wearing his skin like a very tight uncomfortable dress that could not let him breathe. Something was always wrong, something was always missing. Every step was getting harder to take. Every breath was like a cold breeze sneaking in his body. Every mirror was an enemy, a sad reality that he simply did not want to see.

He did not know where to look, that was the reason why he was a prisoner behind his computer screen. He did not like looking down, he would expect to see more distance between his head and the floor. The view always disappointed him. He would take glimpses at the windows of the shops he passed by, every time begging to see something different, magically. That was in vain and he knew it.

He was walking, trying to stand as tall as he could, one hand in his pocket to check if his money was still there, constantly, and the other hand on the strap of his bag that he just could not go anywhere without. He was a bit paranoid, you see, he worried a lot.

He would change his pace pretty often. After a while, he would dive into his thoughts and the dreams that would never come true. He would even smile to himself sometimes. A simple joke would pop into his mind, making one corner of his lips to curl upside. Looking down and lost in his fantasies where he was just a simple guy, he would forget that he lived in this judgmental world where people just threw words out carelessly, every word with even sharper edges than the previous one. So, he would bump into someone, automatically he would say “I am sorry”, without even thinking, at that very second his entire world would crush. Shatter and spread all over the place alongside with all the confidence that he had gathered since the last time it happened. His voice would come out high-pitched, with a feminine tone in it, he would shake his head to forget about that detail, but this was almost always followed by “that’s okay, Miss”.

He would swallow, nodding up and down silently, helplessly, feeling like there were a dozen pieces of broken glass in his throat. Every single day he was a few “miss”s, “lady”s away from completely collapsing.

He was tired, but the world was never too tired to remind him of his place. No matter how hard he tried, there was no way to reflect how he felt inside on his outside. When his eyes were closed, he was this nerdy, regular, medium tall, skinny guy, with glasses who loved rock, reading books, beer, and Netflix. He was even kind of cool in his dreams. His voice was low and deep, he was hanging out with other guys, no one was calling him with the name that his parents gave him when he was born. He was just like any other guy.

The moment he opened his eyes, he would start to feel the pressure of bra straps on his shoulders, he was bleeding from his vagina. He had this small waist on which he was getting compliments from strangers. The compliments that he despised. The compliments that he would rather go deaf than hearing.

Life was getting less tolerable with every personnel directing him to the female section at the shop, and every time he had to use the public bathroom which had the figure in a dress on its door.

He would try to love his body every day, start the morning with a warm smile looking in the mirror even though the view was torturing his eyes. He would try to keep it up during the day. Every time someone called him with his birth name, every time someone called him “Miss” or a “lady”, every time he had to speak with that voice, there would appear deep cut scars in his soul, and by the end of the day he would be all defeated and exhausted. Knowing that he had no chance of introducing himself to the world. The world was never going to know him. No one would ever see him like he saw himself. He would never live this life like other guys did. He was not allowed to be himself. Not now. Not ever. His real self would only live in his dreams and maybe fade away within years and be eaten up by the identity that the world was so restlessly trying to give him.

He was deprived of the very basic human right of just being who he was. He was given a role to play and every single day he was reminded of this role repeatedly.

It was like a lifetime curse. But he was not the princess, no matter how much the story wanted him to be. He just did not know how many more days he would have the energy to walk into the fire in the morning only to turn into ashes by the night all over again.

[samjdg]

Grey Areas

As much as we would like to think otherwise, the world does not evolve around us. But it does not mean our actions do not have significant consequences. Whether we like it or not those consequences are our responsibility and nobody else’s. Not performing an act directly, does not save us from this responsibility, having a close link to an incident makes us a part of it, and we are no longer just a bystander.

There is not a clear-cut line between right and wrong. There are not even clear definitions of right and wrong. And those notions change under certain circumstances. What is wrong for a person, might not be so for someone else who is under different conditions. There are laws to define crimes and determine punishment, but they are written by people, therefore we can only trust laws as much as we can trust people’s opinions. If we take a look at history, it is very easy to see, how laws mostly reflect the time period’s values. Laws change over time, and it is impossible to take into consideration every single detail which would change the path of entire story.

Legal part is only a small piece. There are things that are not crimes and probably will never be crimes, that are not quite right. You are able to push police away but cannot mute the annoying voice in your head that whispers something does not fit. Of course, it is also questionable whether that voice is a curse or a blessing. There are also certain things that are crimes but should not be so.

It is hard to distinguish one person’s rights from another one’s. And that is also impossible to track down every possible path and see how things are related and if we have played a role in something horrible. Even though we find the connection it is still hard to eliminate that effect without restricting that person’s rights and life choices.

The problem is, we are blessed with an overwhelming power. We can literally do anything in this world. Anything and everything. But how things will turn out, that is what comes right after we do them. They are unpredictable. You can go ahead and lie to someone, will they understand? Well, that is another story, the thing is, you can lie. It can even get you murdered. The fact is you did tell this lie. With that logic, you can go assault a person, torture a child, rape someone, discriminate against others, insult people, eat flesh. Anything. You are able to do it. If a person does not do any of those things it is because of the consequences, jail time, reputation loss, the bad reaction, pressure etc.

However, if you are willing to go through those things you can commit to anything. Of course, you can do good things too, help someone, mind your own business, do charity work, volunteer, chase your dreams etc. surprisingly doing those things is more difficult, demands dedication, time, trying more than once, sometimes money, hard work and so on. I do not know how to describe the world. As a stage? As a playground? You decide. But it is a place you can do anything. But are you able to choose to do anything? Well, that depends. That part is tricky, and I am not planning to go down that path right now. Sometimes we find ourselves in the middle of the life that we did not choose. But it is lame to say we never get to make that choice. So, in the world with endless possibilities, what is that you are doing? Why? Just because you can? Because you think you should? Are you bored? Because you just want? Well, you might think it does not matter, but it will matter to someone who is affected by your choices. And you cannot decide if they should or should not feel this way. I really wish that was not true, but our decisions are not limited to us.

I am all about being selfish though, putting myself and my taste first. I do not want to do something which would disturb my peace or threaten my well-being no matter how useful and good that thing is to others. Is there a difference between doing something wrong and not doing something right? What is bad and good? That is all blurry, nobody has an answer to that. We can narrow everything down, and realise we are material beings, it does not matter whatever we do, whomever we hurt or make happy. That’s a messed-up world and we are messed up creatures and we all going to die soon. Thus, does anything really matter?

If not, why do you get mad sometimes? I know you do. Why do you stand up for the things that you do? Why do you get anxiety? Why do you ever worry? About yourself or someone else? We are all capable of doing everything. Does it matter what I choose to do with my power? I can build a school for poor, or I can build a slaughterhouse. I can adopt a child, or I can go and traumatise one. That is me and what I choose to do. And whatever comes as a result, I am going to pay for this. Is it that simple? Should we all stop caring or believing in the things that we do? It is an honest question. I wish I knew the answer. But we cannot. For a while I thought religions could answer those, but I could not find what I needed. I think it all comes down to an individual.

I do not know what is right or wrong. I have no idea about what being a good or a bad person means. but I know what is right or wrong for me. What would make me a good or a bad person. I know what I want to do in the world of endless paths. I know many things are neither right nor wrong, bad nor good. I am aware of the grey areas in life. But there is a feeling, the sense of identity. The feeling reminding you where you stand in that mess. How you define yourself. How you choose to deal with every ounce of damage and every single drop of joy. There is something unique and different about every person’s position no matter how lost we are. There are not the same two spots. I am young. Looking for answers is a thing that I cannot escape. No matter how much I change, how many things I learn, I always come back to the person I used to be. I do not know if that is in our DNA, I have no idea. Sure, I am aware off the various factors shaping the way we feel and think, but still. Mystery is not solved anyway.

What I know is it is like there is something unchangeable about a person. I have found that in me. I have discovered what is that makes me an individual, a personality, someone in the ocean of people. I am not willing to share that. It is special to me. I like feeling special. Is there anything wrong with that? It is harmless. Or can you define harmless? Can you measure it? Would it be possible to differentiate you if everyone looked the same? Are we only a face in the crowd? How do you choose what to do next? According to what? There are not guidelines. You can break the law too. You will just have to get the jail time. There is always a price to pay anyway. It is mad freedom. Everything is incredibly the same but still different for everyone. No ground rules. Billions of people. Infinity of options. It is all vague here. All smoky. What do you see when you look in the mirror? Do you see anything? Who are you? Can you define the things that come to your mind? Who are you?

[samjdg]

The point is everything is going to end. That’s the same reason why everything matters and nothing does in the same time.

[samjdg]

I am such a sweet bitch

[samjdg]

So the thing is, I am not capable of experiencing love. I am only capable of attraction and attachment in special occasions. Rarely.

[samjdg]

Antagonism is a story function and it need not necessarily be embodied in a single character (although it often is). Scott Myers in the blog “Go Into The Story” tells us, “There needs to be some sort of ‘nemesis’ function — a specific character or otherwise — that provides opposition to the Protagonist.” Referring to 500 days of Summer: “Tom’s ‘nemesis’ is not a physical character, but rather an internal psychological dynamic — his overly romanticized view of love. Seeing the end sequence of “The Graduate,” culminating when Ben and Elaine race out of the church to ‘escape’ her wedding and onto the back of a conveniently located bus, Tom doesn’t notice that lingering moment at the end where the couple’s smiles fade, replaced by a rising look of terror in their faces.” An argument can be made that in Finding Nemo, Marlin’s antagonist is the ocean. It stands between him and his desire to find his son.

[samjdg]

[samjdg]

I want to see something beautiful everywhere I look. This will remind me of you

[samjdg]

Forget the mistletoe, kiss me under a streetlight, baby