timoglawin: coloured with Promarkers by Letraset (Default)
[personal profile] timoglawin
Pleasing others. A lot of people say that this can be a real problem, especially if you let it take control of how you live your life, if it pushes you to compromise. This is the Achilles' heel of a lot of modern fiction heroes, those who are trying to "find themselves". I just watched a copy of Perks of Being a Wallflower, downloaded by a friend of mine who shall remain nameless, and it seems that this world is just trying to put a dark twist to every good deed, and there never really is a genuine good deed: everybody just does what they can so that they can sleep better at night. A people-pleaser had a confusing abused childhood; an encourager used to be a worse drinker than your average hobbit at a birthday party. No one is really, genuinely kind anymore as everyone does every single muscular move to their gain.

While I do not share this philosophy, I am not one to condemn it wrong. Each person has a different reality, a mindset that shapes their opinions of others, but most especially of themselves. Too many cases have happened that in order to avoid facing the consequences of actions, we adjust our point of view, our "threshold of evil", to make whatever worse we have done be acceptable in our eyes and the eyes of others. And everyday this margin grows thinner and thinner, and I'm guessing pretty soon it will be gone completely, and we as humans will be free of constriction.

The beauty of the Internet is that it tells you that whatever it is you are thinking, you're not alone in it. Someone somewhere else with a completely different cultural background is feeling the approximate of what you are, what I am. Someone else out there is typing out their "feelings", which are so difficult to explain alone, that you feel relieved when you come across a blog post or an article and you sigh and say "oh so that's what it means, that's what it's all about."

This isn't that post. This one is just as confusing as the way you feel. The way I feel.

I have a certain memory, I should say I was about ten or eleven years old. I don't believe this memory is real. But dreams wash out, and this never has. It's nothing extraordinary aside from the fact that I'm not entirely sure if it happened. Suffice to say that this fake memory, maybe from something I read or heard that I forgot about, has me always questioning people's intentions, and using those to try manipulating them into going the way that I want a situation to go. Nine times out of ten I do not do this intentionally, and fifty percent of the time I get called on it. I'm writing it down right now because I want it to stop. I don't want to live a life based on the thinking of other humans who only think they have it together, like I have thunk for my whole short-long life.

I want a truth I don't have to defend. I want myself to shut up about things that don't matter, because the don't matter. I want to know what does. The age-old question.

Inspiration cometh, I beseech thee.


timoglawin: coloured with Promarkers by Letraset (Default)
Timog Lawin

June 2013

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