eat me henger

me and my peers are fatter in our 30s. perhaps it's just the breakdown of collagen in our skin. could also be our bodies aren't recovering as well as it used to with all the abuse we've subjected it - from sleep deprivation to poor diet. make up and flattering angles can only do so much. i've been exercising and it hasn't made me any slimmer. i want to talk to my fellow fat contemporaries to get their perspective, but i worry i'll just trigger their insecurities. so i'm just writing about it here instead. a process i've been familiar with, but not exactly the most optimal route for getting to the truth... or at least a consensual explanation. not that it really matters. i've ran out of things to write, that i'm going over the mundanity of aging. i guess it's what i've been contending with, really. coming to terms that i am not as young as i used to be. duh. i guess the bigger deal is realizing that i took my early youth for granted. i kep...

i continue to feel unmotivated in writing. perhaps because i've managed my depression and i don't have anything worth writing about. i don't feel down anymore. just pumped for the next workout. even when i feel like writing because i'm going through something, i just can't bring myself to continue typing until i finish the entire entry. there's always something going on. perhaps no space for my creativity to breathe - just productivity. i guess there's pockets of opportunity to be creative in whatever productive activity you can do. creativity is just a matter of ingenious problem solving, or at least brazen pathfinding. maybe it's that. there's too much going on and i need to review if i need it. i derive pleasure from it, but not all fun things are necessary.

it's been weeks and i haven't written anything this year. this is a "fuck it" entry.  i don't always have something to write about. things happen, feelings come and go. there's no strong desire to really capture them in words, despite the profound rumination over my experiences. perhaps it's just a lack of discipline to get into a writing habit. perhaps it's a fear of not being able to pour my heart and exert my mind as much as i do other entries. perhaps it's exhaustion from writing a record number of speeches for work last year. most of which were written just as i was about to go to bed - hours before its delivery. i guess when there's no sense of relevant urgency nor threat of consequences, there's no real driving force to publish. but this is a "fuck it" entry, so whatever i come up with, i'm still going to click on "publish"

i have a lot of immediate frustrations that i'd rather express here than have a direct conversation.  eventually some people stop becoming worth the effort. i could get just as much benefit from airing my grievances here than letting other people know of it, because i don't care for their improvement. it's a heavy favor to tell someone why you're upset. you let them know their blind spots and help them take the next steps to be better. but god freaking damn it, i don't want to be part of that journey anymore. i made the mistake of standing up as a mentor figure. with that comes the burden of enduring their growing pains. enduring for so long is fine until i suffer the consequences of their immaturity. i am not putting up with bullshit like that and they can go be a work in progress elsewhere. i'm tired. i can't afford to be, because i have plans. derailed plans by letting inconsiderate noobs tell me what to do. i made a mistake of being the experiment subjec...

the cost of wanting a response is the anxiety of anticipation.  i hate having to wait. having to want. i get it though. the payoff appears to be worth it. exciting. addicting. so you put yourself out there. possibly put on hold. possibly reciprocated. but while it's still up in the air, the uncertainty is unsettling. in all objectivity, it's just fabricated fear. whether it happens or it doesn't, life goes on. ambition sets a good direction, but it must be tempered with adaptability. iron eventually cools down and any further striking is simply sunk costs. you win, you lean into it and keep playing. hooks you in until the next hit. but if you lose, you need to step away. my coping mechanism has always been pretending to not care. lying to myself makes it feel easier to move on. but it's leaving without the lesson. you can't learn if you don't recognize reality. harboring the hurt is harder but it's a necessary evil. i need to be at ease with the pain. i over...

i haven't been fighting the war raging in me. for years i've been avoiding the battle. never really seeking refuge. keeping the conflict unresolved so i can continue to play victim. pitying myself was the second most rational plan of action. until i heard myself justifying my insecurities with strangers. for a while now, i've been keeping myself bandaged. perhaps as a reminder that danger could happen at any time. my wounds have long since hardened into scars, but i persisted with the phantom pain. however, when i stepped away from the proximity of the perceived precariousness, i found that people at peace have no prejudice. i just realized i was imposing an impaired identity when they said "there should be more people like you" it took a while for that to sink in. only now as i write am i really grasping the power of that statement. granted, newcomers don't fully understand my deeply rooted flaws. nevertheless, there is still good in me that i need to revalid...

gratitude for what happened. that's always a good thing to be grounded on.  as passers-by, we merely scratch the surface. relieving the itch is the best part. when you keep at it, you dig deeper. it comes with pain. when you stop, it ends in scars. scratching lightly leaves no mark but gives enough satisfaction. safe from potential harm, but also never leaving a mark. pristinely vanilla has its appeal, but not with good stories. i know a loss when i see one. it hurts. i would've wanted more. it's been a while since my spirits leapt senselessly. it's been a while since i wanted to live in the past. it's been a while since i didn't want the brain to take over. it's perhaps never over. life continues. it will always be there as an artifact i will appreciate every once in a while. but i wish i were realer.