Sometimes I wonder why I willingly raise my vulnerability penning down what goes through my mind. What am I afraid of? Because people judge and sometimes, not hesitate to deliver unpleasantries. I loathe it but I continue to write.
I remain unfazed in this broken world that we live in today and life being hard as it already is, short of masochism, why is it that I never fail to make things difficult for myself and the people around me?
Honestly, all I want is for the world to be perfect. Not utopia perfect, just a place where people love one another. No fights, no wars, no comparisons, no sarcasm. Is that too much to ask?
And the irony of it all? I do not see the need to let people understand (and love) me. Of course it's human nature to want to probe (into everything) about the people around you, but I don't see the need to, for I believe this - I don't need to ask about something for if you want me to know, you will tell - logic, v.v.
But it's strange that I would get so upset when I'm (mis)read as aloof and arrogant. I should have explained myself and clarified their doubts, but I don't see the need.
I always say "there are bigger problems in the world to worry about" to the others, but I get perturbed easily by the peripherals in life.
Perhaps I'm plain weird, but sometimes it feels like my space is shrinking. I can't exactly explain it but I just need space. Not physical space per se, but rather the unfathomable fourth dimension. Strangely, as much as I need space, I'm afraid of being alone.
Pessimism is not exactly my middle name, but when my funny bone goes into hibernation, I find my usually carefree persona transform into a brooding one, much to my dismay. I blame my genetics for it although I know very well that it's just a lame excuse.
Finally, I can't deny I'm (disgustingly, if you would insist) ostentatious for I definitely prefer the finer things in life. Ironically, I also live by this Hellen Keller quotation:
I remain unfazed in this broken world that we live in today and life being hard as it already is, short of masochism, why is it that I never fail to make things difficult for myself and the people around me?
Honestly, all I want is for the world to be perfect. Not utopia perfect, just a place where people love one another. No fights, no wars, no comparisons, no sarcasm. Is that too much to ask?
And the irony of it all? I do not see the need to let people understand (and love) me. Of course it's human nature to want to probe (into everything) about the people around you, but I don't see the need to, for I believe this - I don't need to ask about something for if you want me to know, you will tell - logic, v.v.
But it's strange that I would get so upset when I'm (mis)read as aloof and arrogant. I should have explained myself and clarified their doubts, but I don't see the need.
I always say "there are bigger problems in the world to worry about" to the others, but I get perturbed easily by the peripherals in life.
Perhaps I'm plain weird, but sometimes it feels like my space is shrinking. I can't exactly explain it but I just need space. Not physical space per se, but rather the unfathomable fourth dimension. Strangely, as much as I need space, I'm afraid of being alone.
Pessimism is not exactly my middle name, but when my funny bone goes into hibernation, I find my usually carefree persona transform into a brooding one, much to my dismay. I blame my genetics for it although I know very well that it's just a lame excuse.
Finally, I can't deny I'm (disgustingly, if you would insist) ostentatious for I definitely prefer the finer things in life. Ironically, I also live by this Hellen Keller quotation:
2 comments:
I find it simpler to love the people around me as they are. Imperfection is a constant for human kind. Who are we to judge one another? If I only can list the one thing that I like about you most...your considerateness.
*blush blush*
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