This is meant to accompany something I wrote previously called The Come Down. Feel free to listen to this if you read, this was my playlist as I spent way too much time trying to write this. This is very loosely semi-based on the true story of my intensely shitty senior year of high school but it's also obviously not and I'm pretty much just hella weird. This also counts as my love letter to Los Angeles, one of my favorite cities on Earth.
Saturday, January 24, 2015
Saturday, January 3, 2015
Friday, December 5, 2014
Why do people struggle so much with putting meaning into their lives?
Honestly, I saw this question on AskReddit. Which doesn't only say something about me, but also just says something about modern society, what the Internet and accessibility has done to us, philosophical Childish Gambino's Because the Internet shit, etc. etc.
But, like, also, I'm sitting here waiting for my Calculus midterm to start while people are starving on the other side of the world. Someone's not gonna be able to afford to eat dinner tonight and I'm wondering what I'm gonna get for Christmas. Shit like that bothers me, and that doesn't make me special or anything-- like, just because I think about third-world countries and poverty doesn't magically make me a good person, because I'm never gonna experience real hardship. And experiencing hardship doesn't make you a good person in the same way that growing up in luxury doesn't make you terrible. It just makes it hard to put any meaning into anything that I do.
We're still living in a world where we still have to prove that the lives of all people matter, not just based on skin color or gender or sexual preference or whatever. And we're still living in a world where money can determine whether your life is important enough to save or not, where my parents have to pay a small fortune just so I can study something so that I can spend the rest of my life hating my career, etc. etc. It's just all so pointless and ridiculous that I laugh at the meaninglessness of it all.
I don't even get to do the things that I enjoy anymore. I don't get to write, or take photographs, or make videos, or even paint. I used to make excuses-- I don't have enough time, I need to study, I don't have any inspiration. But that's not fucking true. There's always years ahead until they're gone, minutes to be spent that are wasted. And I study my ass off but I still feel like I fail at every test I take and piece of homework I turn in regardless of the grade I receive, because there's no passion in how I study and what I'm studying, really. I live a five minute walk from the beach, amongst some of the most beautiful views and opportunities in California, with people who each have their own characters and secrets to discover and learn about.
It's just really hard to find meaning in any of it, and I don't know why I do and always have struggle with it. Like, day-to-day activities and long-term goals, joining fraternities and going to clubs, going out to parties or hanging out with friends; it's hard to find meaning in any of it.
I thought I had a grasp on it, and sometimes I really do; I get so close. I can't really remember where I put the passion in anything I do, but I remember the feeling of it, and I'm going to continue looking for it.
Thursday, October 2, 2014
there goes the best summer of my life, basically.
it's been a good ride. life lessons and lots of ice cream. different countries and different states. lazy days and california adventures. the kind of stuff you can't forget.
some things are always gonna be hard to leave behind.
i went exploring with a couple of new friends the other day. i'd walk miles to watch this sunset every evening, but i only have to walk five minutes.
i'm pretty happy here. it feels early and i know i haven't found it yet, but i'm starting to figure out what i want. but i'll never know for sure.
i miss my dog. i miss my best friend. both would love it here.