I had a conversation. A one-sided blather, more so. Recently I’ve been having something of a crushingly disconnected feeling from everyone, paranoid that no one wants to talk to me any more, or just give me the time of day recently. More and more it feels like I’m being cut off from my friends, more and more it feels like I’m losing touch with my girlfriend, and more and more it feels like I’ve lost touch with myself. I don’t know what I am anymore. I’m going through that teenage phase, the purposeless feelings while I’m trying to figure out where exactly I fit in the world. Call it pragmatic, but can those feelings really be explained in any other matter?
Therein lies my issue. My conversations. I have many words at my power, and I am able to use them all, but I am long-winded, and often I lose sight of my point when I talk about something. The conversation turns on me, rearing its literary head, biting both me and the other participant. I have made the fatal mistake of lacking conciseness and purpose, and by attempting not to offend, I lose assertiveness and my words only become more muddled.
This brings to mind the saying “Actions speak louder than words.” It is the main reason why I am laden with such body language when I speak to a person. My movements are extravagant, strange. They reflect my words. Neither make real sense. They are merely extraneous idiosyncrasies that I use in place of normality, an arcane gesture in parody of that where normal conversation comes into play.
This makes an issue. I have problems finding the balance where I feel I should be entitled to have my thoughts and where I feel I may be too offensive. I don’t have much feedback to go on. I am sheltered and somewhat spoiled, it feels like, and acting out is somewhat of a perverse way of holding a normal conversation, that which etches an image that is unique and my own, but not the one I search for. So then, when I do realize this chimerical construct created to hold my face, my public affairs, my private self suffers for it, paranoid that I have lost myself within what persona I unwittingly called to face the people. I feel as if I am suddenly a facade, lacking identity. It’s easy enough to insist strongly to someone that they shouldn’t worry or that they have larger things to worry about than my own personal problems. It’s somewhat disturbing that mere assurances of such a manner are enough to guide most people away from what I want, just… conversation. To feel like I am adequately a friend.
This happened a lot more towards the back end of my year in Jazz Choir. I slowly became more distant, more strange. I sat away from everyone, observed away from the “family” that I had made it into, feeling as if I were the stereotypical red headed step child to that of the princes and princesses of the group that I had so idolized as the pinnacle of talent and performing in choral arts, one that I had the skill to make it to but not the personality to propagate myself in, to make me one of the family. I sat apart as the eccentric scatman, one who clearly had the passion for music but not the proof to back it up. In moments where we did not sing, or where we all ate lunch in the choir room, I drifted to the corners or to the piano, to draw no attention or to play out a tune in the background. Everyone else was perfectly content to leave me to my devices, and only a few times did they express their concerns, whereupon I would brush them off by telling them I was merely thoughtful or tired. Never did I mention that I felt lonely, and never did I let on that I might possibly be hurt. I can’t blame them for walking away, either. I only have myself to blame on that front, brushing off worried stares with excuses of thought or fatigue. It was as if I aimed to be antisocial.
So. Why am I worried about actions and words? My loss of precision leads me to believe I am lost in what facade I have made of myself, what seems to me as the one who always smiles, who is always right or at least has faith and conviction in the belief I project, one who is quirky and strange. I believe I should clarify myself. I am not always smiling or happy. I am not always right, nor do I always believe myself correct. I don’t want to be the strange one. I just don’t know how to properly act. How do I express what I mean without words? How do I be concise without speaking? I need help learning these skills. I want to know, so I can properly come across as what I am feeling, instead of what I project myself to be. I want to not lie by my actions, consciously or unconsciously.
So, I got bored and decided to separate my thoughtful and life-related posts from the things that I just love to share on a whim! I went ahead and made another blog if you want to follow that too. I felt like sometimes people just want something lighter to look at, and for the sakes of easily classifying where my posts go between whenever I happen to have thoughts at four in the morning or when I am looking at random and awesome things at four in the morning and not thinking whatsoever.
If you’re wondering why I put “Coco” as the one who loves things, it’s a pet name that my girlfriend and one of my best friends gave me; it just stuck, so now Coco is one of the names that I respond to. Anyway, many thanks, and I hope you all like looking at what I happen to enjoy!
If you can correctly pronounce every word in this poem, you will be speaking English better than 90% of the native English speakers in the world. After trying the verses, a Frenchman said he'd prefer six months of hard labour to reading six lines aloud. Try them yourself.
I decided to take a nap today. It was a lazy day anyway, and I wasn’t really particularly feeling very well to start with. Sure, I started off chipper, but later on I sort of grew tired of talking to people and then my head just went on a thought block as I felt like I was going to be irrationally angry at someone for no reason. Those situations are lose-lose. I decided the best thing was to just lose consciousness of my existence for a while and come back refreshed.
Sleep is an interesting phenomenon. No longer how long or short it is, it always comes to me with the feeling of being unmade or remade. When I am in sleep, I feel almost as if I drop out of existence. I am floating in nothingness, a disembodiment of the soul searching to be refreshed and to be ready for the next time when I wake up, when I am fused back to my body again to face another set of challenges that the world sets in front of me to knock down the barriers to my eventual life goal of happiness. My dreams, coming to me when I sleep, are images of other possibilities, other realities, choices, surreal situations, places that will never be made but could be somewhere else with another me, in another universe. It is almost as if my soul moves and inhabits another version of me in a place much less stable in any terms of thinking, where their surroundings are apt to change in strange and interesting new ways, whether it’s for better or for worse, and whether if it is realistic or unrealistic. It just takes off into another plane of probability.
What makes this nap so special to me, though? Unlike most naps, where I wake up to a silent world, with occasional sounds of construction, today I woke up to a raging thunderstorm. Those are my favorite kind of awakenings. It happens very rarely, but it is infinitely beautiful to be able to wake up to the crack of thunder, the pounding of the rains at my window. When I wake up to it, it feels almost as if I am in the other plane of existence my mind outlined while I was out. In the rains, it’s just me, laying in my room with my eyes closed and only a feeling of warmth and sleep surrounding me, radiating outwards as my shield against that of the destructive and hateful nature of the storm, a clash of ideologies on an unconscious level. If I am ever angry in any capacity when I sleep, when I am aroused from my sleep to a thunderstorm, it forces me to think: Life could always be worse. I am waking up in a place where I have a room, support from a family, and food to eat. I have technology, friends, and an ability to express my thoughts freely.
I love the rain, and I love waking up to a little rain music.