Been a while. I feel a tinge of grief over the person I used to be but I wonder if that's because I still miss the taste of those bad habits
I don't like the way the new ones taste
Somehow it makes more sense for my most important writing to be within the medium of a tweet.
The complete lack of ceremony, regularity, and aesthetic association really drive the words home I think
It doesn't take a writer to look at our own life and realize what a good story it is
But a good story can still be tragic, horrifying, and sad
Some argue the best stories require tragedy of some sort
It took me some trial and error to piece together why I am who I am and this week was simply a summary or reaffirmation of all those things or most of them at least
I enjoy and appreciate having this account to look back on. I never had a habit of taking photos so it's been the only way to timestamp my feelings and thoughts. I'm grateful to be someone that attempts to capture a moment with words.
southeast asian family be like ragebait final boss dad, guilt trip final boss mom, weaponised incompetence final boss youngest son, repressed rage eldest daughter
I'm lucky to face little challenge right now, but if I'm not tested under pressure how can I tell if I've gotten any better at handling it
What if I fall and the brittle ground gives way and I just keep falling. How much weight have I let go of, really?
It's too quiet again and the silence is ringing in my ears. This is what I usually yearn for but lately I've had this itch as if I needed to do a controlled burn