los angeles, california
costa mesa, california
las vegas, neveda
san francisco, california
seal beach, california
los angeles, california
costa mesa, california
long beach, california
boyle heights, california
-but i wish nobody understood me.”
Things I do when I’m moody:
I’m currently in a mood. Not entirely sure what to label it, but certainly a mood. I feel sorry for myself, proud of myself, inspired, discouraged, pissed off, and content all in the same breath.
I’m currently writing in a tiny notebook everyday, as to not forget the little things. Mostly consists of pointless lists, small observations and an inventory of my what’s in my brain. I give myself a sweet pat on the back for continuing, year after year, to try to remember to do this and make it a habit. Good luck in 2017, sirmanthir.
I ordered four books on Amazon. I will devour them as soon as I get my hands on them.
This album. Genuinely non-stop. I find it an appropriate representation of the train wreck that was my dating life of 2016.
This point is self explanatory. It goes hand in hand with not feeling bad for sticking up for myself.
I am scheming to paint my bathroom navy.
All of this seems rather incoherent and pointless, but I look forward to reading this in six months and remembering what I meant in all these cryptic and vague sentences. I dunno, maybe not, but I’m moody so I don’t care.
this serves as an audit of me currently, just so i don’t forget who i am at this very moment. i guess i’ll let you read it too.
eating: hummus. so. much. hummus.
drinking: pamplemousse la croix. bougie, i know.
needing: a kitchen table. the floor will do for now.
watching: nothing, i don’t have a tv.
wanting: to be more kind. loving. understanding. and to receive more kindness, love, and understanding.
writing: less than i should be, i think i’m going to change that.
“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.”
I filter through countless inspiration daily and I need to start making work. Just make it. Again and again and again.
It’s been twenty days since I last wrote.
“Sometimes I am so aware that just being alive is a miracle. Some moments I just sit and think about what it means and feels like to be conscious and feel my thoughts running and how I am breathing and seeing. And my mind runs over all these possibilities and instances and dreams that I have, some of which I need to let go. What does it even mean to be your own person? It’s crazy that no one else looks out from behind my eyes, my brain is simply and complicatedly mine. My memories are mine and no one else will remember them. Thinking of the uniqueness of my existence brings a somewhat unsettling feeling, quite existential. And at the same time, it connects me to my own humanness. How I am one in a billion, seeking something out of life, to be known and loved and cared for and understood. Just one set of eyes looking and seeking and experiencing.”
I’ve been really careful with myself in the past twenty days, on account of the delicate position that I now find myself in. But for some reason, I disregarded that this morning and reread things I had written thus far in 2016. And in my true form, I cried.
I still feel the pain, uncertainty, unease that I felt twenty days ago. I’m still seeking acceptance, clarity and peace. My old words sounded like things I said yesterday.
Then someone pointed out to me that that’s the nature of this, of living. You make progress and you fall back. And then you make more progress.
I was so quick to judge myself, and I seemed to momentarily forget the small steps forward I’ve made. I’ve had second interviews and phone calls, I painted my entire room by myself for goodness sake. I’m slowly getting better at spending time alone again, the pain in my gut occurs less frequently, and I even had chili for dinner. Twice.
My words from twenty days ago still profoundly represent where I am now, only now I am twenty days older. Maybe a little more understanding. Maybe a little more patient.
It’s not happening all at once and that’s okay because that’s not how progress works.