I have been wanting to start something like this for a very long time.
I hadn’t, because I considered it a very daunting task. I thought that it would take so much effort, that it had to make sense, be unified, and have some sort of “theme” behind it.
In short, I was trying to curate my life, post a picturesque view of my messy fun-loving world, and order it into a false pretense of what I wanted it to look like.
Correction: Messy and fun is what I want it to look like. Neat and overly-stylized is what others and society want it to look like.
I realized that I will have none of it. (After a nudge from my friend. Thanks, Lyri.)
If the purpose of this is to create a space in which my life bleeds onto paper (or screen) and my memories are kept safe by the technology of today and tomorrow, it would be unfair, unrealistic, and simply unattainable to paint my life as anything other than what it actually is: complex, dynamic, inconsistent, eccentric, unique, and incredibly messy—but of the fun and random variety.
The best way to go about this is to give myself permission to write and post whatever, whenever. However it falls, whenever it does.
It’s time now.
Why now?
takes a deep breath
Here’s the thing:
I have lived a rocky and tumultuous life, and for a very long time, I thought I would never make it to twenty-five. I did. Turning twenty-five in November, a little over three months ago now, was a profoundly bittersweet experience.
Turning twenty-five was hard. It wasn’t a passive event. Twenty-five didn’t just happen to me. I wasn’t going with the flow of time until I eventually turned another year older. I fought to reach that place, swimming against the drowning sands of time. I didn’t turn twenty-five. I achieved twenty-five.
But when I reached the finish line, and realized that it wasn’t really the finish line, as I anticipated, it was time to ask a very troubling question: “Now what?”
I didn’t know the answer to that question for a while. It was like the ocean storm had calmed, but I was still floating aimlessly in the water, chilling in my shipwrecked solace, until one sunny day, I found my answer: I keep going. I keep living.
The point is—having well passed an insurmountable milestone and having rekindled my desire to live (sounds sad, probably because it is), I am ready to undertake the task of chronicling my adventures. I want to create messy poetry and senseless stories that are tickets to the inner-workings of my convoluted mind.
There’s so much worth living, and I want to remember it. There are so many words and worlds worth creating, and I want to explore them.
For the first time, I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to dissolve. I don’t want to disintegrate.
I want to live, and cherish those moments, relish in the perfect imperfection of every messy moment, spill ink on paper without holding back.
Essentially: I refuse to make this blog a pedestal.
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