When I emerged from the bathroom and then instantly submerged into the bedroom, I feel a stale obligation to make this blog more private and then put something private on it. The very reason that the privacy is so valued is it always means a decrease in quality, the redundant thoughts put into the bettering of phrase arrangement, the concern that some of those acquaintances might get access. It's not the possibility of happening that disturbs me - for if for those to really happen, I'll surely deal with the outcome with ease, but the threatening feeling of so.
I, along with everyone, am driven by a shallow awareness that in fact isn't awareness at all rather than an impulse, an instinct, and a sensation to suppress the fear of being ultimately moot. I'm composed of gazillions of exquisite things, atoms, molecules, signals that synchronize them. If I'm the creator of myself, I would be dumbfounded by this masterpiece. But I'm not, for the universe is relativistic, so is my existence, so is my pride and awareness.
During the shower, I was utterly unimpressed by my male body, just like somewhere else, a female is unimpressed by her body. My mom spoke to me through the door 4 times, that the hot water has gone again, that I should be prepared to the sudden change of temperature. Almost immediately I recalled the 3 days I spent in my brother's house, they have hot water, incessant hot water like a grant from God to me and like a usual houseware to them. But what's troubling me they yearn, and what's troubling them I yearn. From the beginning of time, people yearn, so they kill each other when they don't have food, and then unite each other when they have.
I'm always inundated by the oracle that my entirety is repetitive, for the sole purpose of ending the chain of creation by myself, that I consist of things, but not things consisting of me. It's unrealistic. Just like the Greek saying I incidentally learn from Total War: Rome II, for who you are, I was; for who I am, you will be. So I'm permanently anguished, with occasional dust blown to the surface of my water, or a stone thrown slightly deeper beneath it. I'm comfortable with where life is taking me, I don't struggle to change the direction of it, nor do I know what that direction is. Because when I tried, a hell of a boy fell into the water and all my effort was not stopping him from sinking further.
The only regret I have, is I can no longer begin to.
