This has been a long time coming. I don’t type much outside of class anymore (I’m back in uni), and do my ‘writing’ in my head. I would like to say I’m a writer, but then I don’t write. A dreamer, perhaps?
I’m back here on this blog because IDK – I Don’t Know. I have no idea whether I want to be in university. Before coming here, I wanted it so much because I felt that I needed to go somewhere. There was a compass in me that needed to direct my course towards school because I failed at finding a job and I couldn’t write stories anymore. There still is, but like the one from Jack Sparrow (Pirates of the Caribbean), I find it spinning around and around in a mindless whirl. On one hand, I can’t put to words how much I have grown since coming into university. It’s to the level where I don’t even feel like I’m the same girl. I can almost imagine the skin crackling around me as I slowly emerge from my pupa. On another, I panic because of the costs of a private university. I don’t panic every day – I would not be able to function if I did – but the fear only builds. What if this isn’t all it’s cracked out to be? What if I only end up in disaster for all that I have spent?
I want to tell everyone about my past. It’s not completely narcissistic (I mean on some level the fact that I have a blog is debatably a sign of millennial narcissism). Rather I want to tell it because on this constant stream of data, I want some part of it to have my story in it. There’s a quote lurking in the back of my head, about life being a story and you deciding how your sentence in life is going to be like. It’s very master of the universe, isn’t it? I want people to know me, just as much as I want to know them. I want people to read this blog and know the girl running it. Even with all the deadly obstacles of social media in the recent few years. I want people to have a background on what I mean when I say what I say, because I have now noticed that what I say and the way I think is out of the box, unexpected, and often leave people hanging. In my experience, none of the three ever made me more friends, only less. This leads to the next part.
I don’t know what I want. And I want that to be okay to admit to.
I’m a high conceptual thinker (HCT). I take what I see, I know and have heard and come up with stuff. I don’t know if I was born like this, or if I made myself like this, but I tick all the options for what HCTs fail at.
Yes, I self-diagnosed. But I did it by eliminating weaknesses, not strength which would have been more likely to be wrong. Humans like to conflate strengths and under-represent weaknesses. I don’t, for the most part. I feel that if I boast, I am giving people an unrealistic idea of my abilities. I’m not God, nor will I consciously try to be. It’s why I think I’m less convincing when I review makeup products. I don’t try to sell people stuff. For the most part, I add the comment that you need to try the product for yourself in order to really know. HCTs pass the marshmallow experiment easily because they understand the merits of waiting for two marshmallow instead of eating the one before you (I do).
I don’t always know myself.
This is my body. This is me typing. But what made my body mine? Why should I be typing all this out? Why shouldn’t I? I was late to become part of the Internet (for my cohort, I think?), so I don’t have the entire unofficial rulebook of the Internet all memorized. I’ve been told I shouldn’t discuss myself online, and that I should keep stuff private.
But what about shedding light on stuff behind closed doors?
What about informing people on stuff, i.e. communication issues?
I don’t mean talking about every aspect of my life. In an environment of the most flawless aesthetic and perfect online lives, I felt ashamed of how I live. Felt. Like I would never have a dream house, a dream career, a dream husband. Mind you, this was in the 2010s. And it was this shame that made me feel like I had nothing to show for the individual that I am. That there are so many people and why would they bother to know me? I didn’t have any personal social engagements as I was growing up that wasn’t family. I have people who knew me when I was very young that are surprised that I study communications because I was so terrible at it. I didn’t feel like I was a part of this world, and on some level I still reject this world for its preconceived rejection of me.
But now I’ve realised.
I can share my feelings.
I can share the helplessness I get when I see the world. Not because of the horrors, but when I see injustice and want to do good and believing that I am not enough, that to society I am not enough. That to myself, I don’t feel enough; both feeling adequate and feeling at all. I don’t watch the news because of it, because I would rage at the TV for nothing but telling me what I don’t want and can’t accept hearing.
I can share how much I want to write. Not the spewing of accounts of my own timeline til this post, but the stories I have built up.
I don’t know and it’s why I have not been up on this blog. After several months of writing makeup reviews going what felt like nowhere on my Blogger page, I switched here and have no idea what I’m actually doing. I keep switching my mind about this blog. I want it to be
- representative of me
- talk about makeup
- talk about movies
- talk about communication
- be a safe place to share
- no trolls or flaming or cyber-bullying
and the list goes on. How do I run this page? Is it feasible as an income? What should I use this platform for? Can I do it? Do I know how to fit this into my schedule? What the hell do I want from my life?
And the answer is
I. Don’t. Know.