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REMINGTON ABALONE 3 | LISTING

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Why Do We Collect Things?
I got this idea to write about this topic since I just watched a bunch of videos of Pokemon Card Vendors on youtube. I must say, the interaction they have in the community is awesome! Now, this got me thinking, why do we collect things despite whatever is going on in our lives? I Collect Memories First, to answer that question, I personally collect meaningful and personal objects. The short…
Edición Limitada de Royal Salute: Royal Salute Harris Reed Royal Salute Harris Reed, el fruto de la... https://www.licorea.es/royal-salute-harris-reed/?feed_id=11579&_unique_id=66e947deb9df0&Edici%C3%B3n%20Limitada%20de%20Royal%20Salute%3A%20Royal%20Salute%20Harris%20Reed
Day 49
My friend was picked up by her parents around midday. The only reaction from her mother towards me was “So interesting you are”. The memory of the Netherlands instantly peaked in my mind with flashback of the guy who approached me one night. Later that night, in the conversation we were having, I asked what made him approach me, he replied:
-I looked at you, and thought to myself - interesting.
Nothing worked out between us. I learned then nevertheless, that there are people - collectors - who collect other people as a bunch of stories to tell. They look at you and think “interesting” and then it feels like you have to prove yourself to them. But you can never justify their expectations, and you are left empty, as if emotionally raped, as if robbed of something you never had and never will have. That is a crime of contemporary capitalist society humanity is exposed to.
H. sent me photos from his vacation in Greece. There are almost 60 of them, damn it. I genuinely laughed at many of those. The gesture literally made me feel happy.
I struggle like hell.
It’s either I am falling ill, or something is happening. I feel sick, my throat is sore. It might be the case of wisdom tooth pull-out recovery, but still - it bothers me a lot. Actually I do feel exactly like I felt, when writing a book for H. I feel into those three weeks of constant pain in my throat, I couldn’t swallow properly, I could not concentrate, I could not do anything, but create this thing, that caused so much trouble after. I feel exactly like that. It feels like I am getting to the point where I have to push myself and ask for some guidance from the person who got me lost in the first place. But it is scary, I am so damn scared. I have written the draft of the message I want to send to H.; but I have never hesitated so much in my life. I need help, advice, push, I don’t know what I need anymore, but I am at a crucial point of making a decision. Otherwise I will be stuck - the best outcome; what’s worse - I might fall. So here is the draft of the message:
I have been meaning to ask you something for some time now, but it is very personal, and I need your permission to do that. And I care about our contact too much to ask that without it, I would like to secure it in advance, i.e. if you don't want to talk about it, we can drop it.
Short version:
how did you feel when reading the scrapbook I gave out to you? (I mean I would like to know everything you are willing to say, may it be reactions to particular things, or general reactions).
Long version, with explanation:
I am working on a photo book from my stay in the Netherlands, and the other day I was going through the e-mailы we were sending one another, and I had a panic attack. I don't want to talk about it, but it got me thinking, and feeling, and everything. the point is, I feel guilt for saying things I said to you. They say to never apologise for the way you feel about people, but my problem was that I didn't know what I felt, so i called it love. And although it might have been love, I think contemporary word "love" is so falsely overcharged with meaningless meaning, that it might have resulted in...hm...confusion, maybe. I keep going through everything that happened in my head over and and over again, I am reading about love, and the more I read, the more I feel like explaining myself again (which might result in another book, and i don't think I can do that to you). I have started a blog about my return to Belarus, and I have written more than 100 pages already. And keep wondering, keep making assumptions, which do lead me anywhere.
So, if I may,
how did you feel when reading the scrapbook I gave out to you? (I mean I would like to know everything you are willing to say, may it be reactions to particular things, or general reactions).
I keep blaming myself for making it "too much" or something. Because it took me months to make, and then you had to face it in a course of days, or maybe even hours, it might have been overwhelming. And I keep blaming myself for exposing you to my personal confusion. This book was a way to survive for me, and I put myself into it, and gave it out, because it felt right. But I didn't think about you, I didn't think how it might make you feel. You said that you didn't know how to react, and only then I realised what I had done. Because there were no expectations, it felt like I did it selfishly, because it felt right for me. I was so inspired, I couldn't help it. And somewhere along the way, I forgot that it was about you, an actual human being, with thoughts, feeling, obligations. And I am so sorry for that.
I keep writing and writing about me moving on, and there are so many words already, but the thing that holds me back is this feeling of guilt. Maybe I think too much about it, maybe I worry too much, but that is just me, and I can't stop thinking about it, otherwise, it would be a self cheat. I am so sorry once again for being complicated, and for so many words. But I need help, from you. And I never ask for help, I usually can't ask for help, but I have reached the point, where it is no longer healthy. And I need you to guide me. I am constantly worried that I did something wrong, and I worry about you after that. I need to know how I made you feel, because my intentions were pure, but they say, that with good intentions the roads to hell are paved. Please, be true, I need to know. Take as much time as you need, just let me know, eventually, please.
I worried so much, that my brain switched off at 9 p.m. I could not do anything, or even think. Although I pretty much did nothing during the day, I felt devastated by the evening, so I simply went to bed, although my dad just came home and vividly expected my engagement. Could not give a single fuck about that, though. Went straight to bed, hoping to avoid throwing eventually up. Me. Moving on.