I've been reading Birdykins and have been feeling more and more jealous. What draws her readers in, is her pure and honest posts. I have this capability, if I wasn't so fucking scared.
I'm finding that I hate coming here. I sit down and want to write about it, but I won't because I can't.
I've been writing more "real" pieces, but cannot pull the trigger on posting them. Sometimes I will post them for two minutes and take them back down. I'm just tired of writing about my job, my classes, my meals and my other daily boring activities, when life is happening. This had initially been a blog about my experiences in Chicago, and I'm pulling away.
Life is a mirror.
Last year, I wrote a blog about Mr. South Korea Teacher. It has been hands down, one of the most honest things I wrote here. When I wrote it, I had a moment of thinking, I don't care who reads this, I don't care if he reads this. It's real. What I wrote, wasn't for him and wasn't for you, it was for me. I was vulnerable for a brief second.
I confuse vulnerability with a lack of confidence. I want to be vulnerable, but there is such a fine line (from my thinking) between the two. I haven't fully understood it yet, because I never let myself feel that way, even though I want to.
And the reason I haven't been forthcoming with anything is because I am so afraid. I try to walk through life with a confidence that I have not found in my writing yet. I hate being wishy washy about my writing. I hate that I keep writing at a distance.
I try to tell myself lately, nothing you say or do will actually make a difference, nothing you write here will change anything about the situation, so why not be honest about it.
But what holds me back, is weakness. I'm so stuck on maintaining composure, that many times I lose a sense of emotion. I adhere too tightly to the narcissism my Dad passed down to me, and the stoicism my mother ingrained in me, and the hardened person I strive to be. Some days, rare days, when I am overtaken by any "feeling", whether it be sadness, anger, guilt, happiness, when I have a surge of creative momentum, I take advantage of it, it lasts momentarily before I put those feelings aside.
What good are writers without the emotion you can pour into words? How can I really even evolve, without being myself here?
I'm at a crossroads here. Life is changing for me. I want my writing to change as well. I have to remind myself, nothing I say here will change how things are.
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