b✩

my name’s bea

i’m 17

i live in bologna, italy

i have a pet turtle, she’s absolutely evil and i love that for her

i like…

reading - especially buying books without ever starting them; i also have a reading group with two of my friends in school, writing, all sorts of music - though i’m currently fixating on folk music (think joni mitchell, leonard cohen, bob dylan, art garfunkel & ofc patti smith), and spending way too much time thinking about people who don’t even remember i exist <3

+ i’m currently trying to learn how to play the guitar!

on tumblr…

i will share anything that comes to my mind: photos from trips, quotes from books, my own (not too) personal reflections (as this is still on the internet for everyone to see), reblogs, and just daily life shenanigans overall

i’d also love to make friends on here, so if you wanna be moots comment on this post!

feel free to dm me if there’s anything that you would like to talk about with a digital-stranger. we’re literally on a rock floating in space!!!

(i’ve used way too many exclamation points)

1. it is absolutely not fertile ground for actual critical analysis (which always leaves me very unsatisfied)

2. i’ve been reading books passively. every time i finish something, i never sit down and do as much as writing down my thoughts or reflections.

my problem with writing is mostly that i think i’m not good enough, and i avoid it because of this: i remember meeting my elementary school teacher a few years ago, when i was in 9th grade, and her telling me that she expected to read something i wrote soon. i hardly believe that she was being serious about it, since she’s pretty old and i was a child when she had me as a student, but it really stuck with me.

a classmate who i really look up to (possibly the only one in my class who i don’t hate) told me that she really sees me working as a journalist in the future. but my school has a newspaper and i wrote the worst, most inconclusive, useless article ever, which i had planned to write months before, as it was about a book i had read during the summer, and in the end i postponed it so much that i forgot what point i wanted to make and had it published even though it made no sense. it is the only thing i ever “published” and the only thing i can say about it is that i hope all copies of it get burned.

other than expressing my embarrassment and self-loathing, what i’m trying to say is that i’m not sure whether writing is actually my calling, despite what people think of me. i never write in my free time - i have a journal but it’s been a while since my last entry and i don’t really say anything meaningful in it. i’ve never written stories despite my love for reading. what could a person like me possibly add to the world, when so much has already been said? i personally find it hard to think i could write something completely new and interesting. but at the same time i detest the idea of mediocrity, because, to me, it feels like when i was finishing that article and only thought, “there’s no point in doing this, what am i even trying to say?”