honey cinnamon cream bun

dear new diary, this is my new diary, i bought it today and whatever it is that i write here, i want it to be honest. that is the vision. the size and the feel of this diary is reminiscent of a similar one i had in seventh grade i think. growing up i would buy a lot of diaries and i was specific with the type i wanted; i had a vision in my head but all that was available to me in the small stationery shops in my hometown was just very corporate looking office type diaries, and the one i had was exactly that. you would imagine a man who works an office job(god knows what that is) writing down something like phone numbers of people or some type of math thingy. or maybe i just made up this analogy. the truth is that i had tea, and i guess the caffeine is making me feel this way, otherwise i’d be miserable i think. there is a lot for me to unpack right now. listening to la ka land ost, started with ‘another day of sun’. it is a good start. a beginning. the sun card. hope. renewal. a start. a beginning. where do i even start. language. i have been reading stuart hall's book on representation and he says a lot about using language to make meaning. so on and so forth. what really moves me is the very strangeness; paradoxical nature of language. why does everything become so profound and complex and layered with growing up, with time, with experience, with the going on-ness of life. i guess that is just the way it is. so i came across this line of thought: language is at once fixed and fluid. doesn't that fuck things up big time. it fills my head with a lot of ideas. such as, i can never express the depth of my feelings, i can never translate the feelings into words. for so long, i was under the impression that i am good at expressing my thoughts and feelings into words, into writing at least; but now i have sort of realised that i have not fully understood my feelings enough(melodrama is on shuffle now). almost like, writing for me has been some sort of manipulation, an unknowing warping of feelings(mine) which comes with the illusion of them being known but the truth us that they are unknowable, but have the potential of being known. what i am trying to say is that i am impulsive. words come out of me. translation of thoughts/feelings into more thoughts, words, writing, almost like a madman or like a possessed person speaking singing under some influence. once the translation happens, i think to myself, what have i just said, and it doesn't seem to align with how i truly feel; i just spew shit. i just spew shit without taking time to think it through or feel it through, immediacy. that happens a lot in writing, texting. it just comes out of me, and that is okay. no one really trained me to speak or write mindfully i think. what am i even saying.