Hello. It's Day Ten.
It's amazing how I mention the day number in the post title everyday, and still go on like a teacher telling her students which chapter she's going to teach next, despite the possibility of them having already know about it.
Yesterday, I spoke of how we're all stuck in a rut. We have made ourselves habitual to live in another place all the time. We're so busy attempting to capture and record all our memories, we forget that while we're doing that, that time and place hasn't become a memory yet. So, while we're not living fully wherever we are, we're flubbing on all the fair-shakes of being something more and maybe even absolutely antithetic of what we are. And, it's not much to say how monotonous our lives are shaded in this age. Even so, whenever I've seen all the pre-social media pictures of my parents' lives, the only thing that constantly hit me was, for them, those pictures was actually about preserving memories in the truest sense, because they could hardly go about showing people they barely knew what fun they had the night before. I reckon that has compelled us to view our life not as ourselves but from an outsiders perspective and how should it be lived.
And that just happens to be one of the so many factors that people don't live thoroughly and intimately. Often times, we claim for certain things so integral for us to live, music or painting or dancing or anything under the sun - yet we so easily trade on them for something that's much too out of our element, because it might just be passé to not ebb with what is latest.
This white space that is now filled with a lot of black font was my escape and my necessity too. For about a year I've ignored it because my work, for me apparently took precedence. There have been times all throughout the year, with what having thesis the first half, and started working in the second, where I wanted to just stop and breathe. And the hilarious part about it is that I assumed some good music, coffee and extra sleep would cure everything. I wouldn't lie, this year I've written the least of all since I started created this blog almost five years ago. And I regret it. I also proudly regret it, because I know I deserve to. I was busy, yet restless. What I didn't apprehend was that I just had to open this page, write two lines, and I'd be at peace. And becoming conscious of how major a chunk of this year I'd given to not writing, had me in a fit. A lot of these things struck me somewhere so deep when looking at his school yesterday, all my father said was that knowing he was ambitious to be at a certain place in his life, knowing that he could get there and he did, and even in the midst of spending their lives with the person they both loved, kids they doted on, ample memories in ample places, he and my mother at some point had forgotten to live for themselves. While trying to deal with college ending, and starting a new chapter, getting used to a new city, meeting new people, wanting to learn the absolute amount in a day, I forgot that there was something I loved with such a fascination, I didn't have to go too far to make myself happy. There's a reason I decided to end my restlessness with BlogMas again. I wanted to commit again to my blog. I know my blog thinks a little less of me at the moment having ignored it for a year. I promise I'm redeeming our relationship. This place is my love.
Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.