I do not know what I want out of this. Writing is fun, but do I wish to be a writer I do not know. Expression yes, obligation no. Vanity also a no. I have hated vanity all my life, and yet I know I possess much of it. But why bother making something public if not for the vanity of it all? To presume another to want to read what has been written. Let’s not think too much, and keep it casual.
Many months ago, I felt miserable about not doing anything meaningful to anyone, including the only person I really had to convince—myself—and wrote something I rather liked. The real reason I finally felt like I should write a blog post then was because D told me that I was a consumer, and that I’d never be able to feel fulfilled in that state. If there was nothing that I was building, and I was just using what others created, I was just going to be a nobody to everybody—including myself—forever, and honestly, it still feels like it’ll be a forever. And a forever it may be. But I’m trying. This is my first blog post of the year!
I went to a dinner with some of my oldest friends, and it was rather nice because of the low pressure. Even if I somehow royally messed up, we have formed a bond that is self-healing through time, much like those fabric cutting mats. Trust me, the stakes in The Real Life can’t be much higher than the stakes in The Hormonal & Competitive High School Life. We’re sitting around, and we’re vomiting up the past years of our life. Describing this and that relationship, how careers are going, and whatever else people talk about when they catch up. Eat more chicken when the silence is loud. Listen when the silence is quiet.
I learned nothing of substance. Nothing all that interesting can come from rehashing the past instead of creating the future. I don’t watch TV, but I imagine that the feeling of seeing people who you already know from a life distant from the lived one now is like rewatching an episode from a long time ago. You know the characters well, but don’t remember the plot well, yet you still have a sixth sense for what is about to happen. And no true new knowledge comes about, but still the episode is watched and likely enjoyed.
I went to the Noguchi museum on my own two months ago. I biked to the LIC Costco to pick up my contacts, which was around an hour ride and across two bridges. Took a coffee break in Greenpoint and continued on my way. It was longer than I expected, and I showed up to the next-door-to-LIC-Costco Noguchi museum which was small but peaceful.
This was at the start of February, so it was colder than preferable. The Noguchi museum is half outdoor. I stood near a warm window on the second floor after finishing the open first floor, and stared outside a while. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, and the courtyard swelled with green bushes and artistically mottled sculptures. It almost felt like it should’ve been summer next to that window. And with the illusion of greenery and beautiful people sitting on the curved benches along the walkway, I really did feel warm.
But a window is still a wall. And no matter how much I try to get closer to the warmth with the vision of the other side, I still feel apart from it. And no matter how much you regurgitate to me about your little life, I am still only an observer watching through a window. And how sad it is that I can’t see a way out to meet you there, and to feel you experience a life with me again. Wish you. Wish you to spend time, not squander it.1
Even during the dinner, I missed them. I missed them because they were not there, and even I was not there. We were all just painting pictures of ourselves for each other, behind some shitty windows. And now I am literally typing in a web browser window, trying to paint some shitty picture for you.
Really, life is not that miserable and really quite good. I am going on a trip soon, and more than excitement, I am relieved that my starvation for novelty will end. But what after? There’s still the me who lives after, and the whole endless horizon of the rest of my life. I go back and forth being excited and not. In times of excitement, I feel there is so much to see and learn and do, and in times of dread, I fear that I already have everything I’ll ever want. This is the poverty of a consumer, to only be able to want what already exists instead of creating what you want.2
It’s not that deep. It’s just 1:41 AM on Friday and I am feeling the stakes are high, but let’s keep it casual. I have so much to love about this time I have, and all I need is to be more creative so I can spend more of it with people I love. Just going to need a window cutter for this wall!
Funny that I (we?) can only spend time and money. Unlike money, time we cannot earn.
I forget where I read this, but I saw somewhere a long time ago that every imaginary animal is a derivative of what already exists. Like how a dragon is really just a floating snake with feet and sometimes wings, and a unicorn is a horned-horse.
i rly enjoyed reading this very relatable