dirt enthusiast
pixel skylines
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
One Nice Bug Per Day
Kiana Khansmith
@theartofmadeline
AnasAbdin
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
i don't do bad sauce passes
oozey mess
Today's Document
DEAR READER
h
occasionally subtle
Jules of Nature
shark vs the universe
wallacepolsom
almost home
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@instead--of--studying
Wondering if this is what being 19 is all about.
Feeling like I've got my entire life in front of me, but also like there's nothing left to happen. Like my life is just starting, but also like I'm staring at the end of it all.
Sometimes it feels both like I'm so advanced compared to my peers, but also like I've never been more behind. Like I've experienced so much, and yet I have so much to catch up with.
Feeling both 4 years old and 17 at the same time. But not 19.
Never 19.
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how empty of me to be so full of you
Psst, if you suffer from chronic illness like me and are knowingly pushing yourself too hard out of guilt for not being “productive enough”, please stop. I know it’s hard but you don’t deserve to pay for it later. And we always pay for it later.
Your worth is not measured by how “productive” you are. You are worthy on the days you accomplish a dozen tasks and you are worthy on the days you lay in bed all day. You are always worthy. And that doesn’t fluctuate, even when your capabilities do.
It’s okay to rest. (And honestly, rest can be productive.)
in the end, i left my toxic home.
now life is... interesting. it's complex.
some days, preparing food for myself is the only way i can relax and forget about my worries. other days, i will hear the water i just drank inside my stomach because i can't find a drop of energy to boil myself an egg.
some days, there's nothing that can bring me down. lack of sleep, people being shitty, a broken plate, bad drivers? none of these matter. other days, realizing i don't have curry powder in my apartment is what gets me to break down.
some days, i go out and enjoy being with people and it almost feels like it's a different me, a different life. other days, the weight of my past will crush me down at the smell of a specific dish my mom made once.
some days, i see myself as an insignificant being in this big city, and that brings me joy, peace and a feeling of freedom so intense. other days, the exact same thing makes me feel desperate, or even threatened by the size of this universe.
some days i thank myself religiously that i left. other days, i cry myself to sleep missing home. toxic or not, it was still home.
but every day, i know my past self would be proud of me that i got where i am and that i'm determined to find my way in this world. so every day i keep going. and every day i remember that i am building my own future.
so every day, i go to sleep with hope growing inside me.
man, how i love strangers
i love the person who stops during their walk for a second to take yet another picture of the sky. i love the group of girls waving to a baby, and squealing when they get a wave back. i love the teen hanging out in the kids section at a library, because they're not quite ready to move to another section. i love the two girls on their first date, pink dusting their cheeks because they're holding hands. i love the long relationship couple who are warmly tucked in each other's side on a bench. i love swaying together with strangers while listening to an old man busking, old songs making us nostalgic for a past we didn't even live.
i love strangers because i see life and beauty in so many of them, and it makes me feel like living again
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my mind is dying from hours and days and months and years of staring at a little colored screen.
the past few years are all blurred together in my mind, because there is a severe lack of real, interpersonal activities, memories and events. i could tell you all about trends and celebrities and memes and viral sounds, but now i can't remember the last time i saw my friends, all because it didn't give me the same immense and unhealthy amount of stimuli.
my attention span is basically inexistent because i spoonfed my brain with short, easy-to-digest content packed with dopamine for too long now. the entertainment this content provides is short-lived, and sometimes it's inexistent.
days are spent like this, and then the night comes and it's still the same. at work or at school and then in breaks and then on the bus and then at a friend reunion and then just everywhere.
there are a lot of wrong things in this world, and this is one of them. we're wilting and we barely realize it.
i don't journal to get in touch with myself or make my head clearer. i don't journal to write down manifestations, prayers or wishes in hope they become true. i don't journal with the sole goal of becoming a better person.
i journal because i want to let my mind ramble.
i journal because it's the kind of writing where i don't have to meet any expectations. i journal because i can be completely spontaneous, even if the final result might not make sense to me in a few years. i journal because i can write words and phrases again and again and again on a single page and there is no problem with that. i journal because i don't have to question the words i'm writing and i don't have to worry about spelling mistakes, about ink smudging or about random creases from where my tears have dried in the paper. i journal because journaling is between me and myself and there is no greater show of self love than letting said self get out and breathe.
~thoughts from while the ink dries~
What hurts more than being burned by hell’s flames is having a casual talk with your parents and realizing the exact moment they become manipulative and start victimizing themselves. It’s like you see a whole deterioration arc in the span of two minutes.
And you can’t help but curse yourself, because you will forget this all willingly the next moment they show their nice side again.Â
not enough people talk about the struggle of reaching 18 in a toxic household and realising you have to make a choice. you can either stay and continue living with that constant pain or you will completely rip yourself out from your roots.
on one side, there is a painful kind of hope making you think it will get better, that you can stay and your past will become just a bitter memory you can bury and pretend it didn't happen.
but then somewhere out there it's the life you've always wished for, the one that 13 yo you would cry over at midnight, the one that seemed unattainable and too far away just a few months ago.
and what kills you inside is realising that no matter what you choose, the painful stability or the kind of growth that comes only after suffering, it will kill a part of you and you will always grieve after the life you didn't live.
so one of the key themes of squid game is how capitalism forces people to compete with and screw over others in order to get ahead, even though they could all move up if they just worked with instead of against one another. and i’ve seen people say “but they couldn’t even if they wanted to! the VIPs and game hosts wouldn’t have let them!”
and…that’s just it. because that’s how capitalism works! it stacks the odds against you so you’re forced to pit yourself against those you should ally with, and then it brainwashes you into thinking this is how the world should work so you don’t question it. because of course the privileged upper classes don’t want the people they screwed over to mobilize and become a threat!Â
and it’s so telling that while every participant enters just to get enough money to pay off their debts, eventually their need to win it all drives them to betray and actively murder each other. even though winning as a team would still have let them walk away with enough money to both settle their debts and still live a comfortable life, at this point they’ve internalized the “me first” rhetoric to the extent that this is just not an option they can consider anymore. and it’s only at the very end, bleeding and injured, that gi-hun and sang-woo realize it at all.Â
the only way to succeed in a capitalistic system is to put yourself first, because that’s how it’s been designed to work. so even if you do manage to get to the top, odds are you become like the Front Man - a class traitor, someone who upholds the very system that oppresses those like him. because capitalism tells you that there is only space for you, not us.Â
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Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing direction. You change direction, but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun in there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverised bones.
(...) And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.
And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.
-- haruki murakami, kafka on the shore
Not that running away's going to solve everything. I don't want to rain on your parade or anything, but I wouldn't count on escaping this place if I were you. No matter how far you run. Distance might not solve anything.
-- haruki murakami, kafka on the shore
