Dear Owls,
There is nothing more confusing in the world to me than change. It rattles my bones and worries my spirit. Change is not my strong suit and it never will be. Edit: I'm trying to refrain from definitive words, so perhaps not never. I wish, now more than ever, that these letters to owls were real. That when I write, they reach somewhere. Instead, they spin into a whirlwind of internet archives. I wish these letters were real because writing them brings me so much comfort, it's surprising that I'm speaking only to myself. I forget how comforting it is to just vomit words onto my blog and call it a 'hobby'.
Confession: I want to publish a book someday. I want to write beautiful things and I want those beautiful things to help people who need to read beautiful things. You are so kind for reading my words, whomever you are. I say this now because perhaps now is when I need to be heard the most. The most terrifying thing to writers is that their voice is sinking. It's scary to think that someday, nobody really cares about what you have to say. What would we write about then? And would it even matter? Well. The answer is yes. Writing, with or without an audience always matters but it's always nice to have you here.
When I first entered university, I didn't know what to expect. It felt like I was a little lemon. My memories are happy and fresh. I didn't know anybody. Everybody took me on a mental trip. All these people, and I could do whatever I wanted with my time. I wanted to dance about it. Let the liberty hold my arms like puppet strings, as I oblige to the movements. It was glorious. The second year, I was more cautious, with friends and decisions. My third year went to shit because of all the stress that sat on my heart. I put too much on my plate and it became effort to eat. Now... it's my fourth year. I have no idea what to expect really. It's my final year, and I'm hoping that I feel like a lemon again. Not sour, but refreshed. I miss feeling accomplished. I want to learn and do new things. There' s just never enough to do and so I find myself doing nothing; frankly, pure hypocrisy to all the planners/schedules I set out for myself.
Right now, I'm at a changing point. Like I said, I'm not too great when it comes to these things. I'm at a point in life where I don't know whether to let go of things that I've wanted or just keep fighting for it. But tell me, is there any good in fighting for something that doesn't belong to you anymore? My anxious heart just wants answers to these questions, simply to know. Had I known where I was ending up a few years from now, I would probably be much more at ease. I guess that's the point of life. Not knowing. I just had much more in mind for my last year. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I've done nothing. I just feel like there's something missing all the time. And this missing thing? I feel as though I'm never going to get it. Ok, maybe not never.
Yours with wishful thinking and a heavy heart,
Me.
There is nothing more confusing in the world to me than change. It rattles my bones and worries my spirit. Change is not my strong suit and it never will be. Edit: I'm trying to refrain from definitive words, so perhaps not never. I wish, now more than ever, that these letters to owls were real. That when I write, they reach somewhere. Instead, they spin into a whirlwind of internet archives. I wish these letters were real because writing them brings me so much comfort, it's surprising that I'm speaking only to myself. I forget how comforting it is to just vomit words onto my blog and call it a 'hobby'.
Confession: I want to publish a book someday. I want to write beautiful things and I want those beautiful things to help people who need to read beautiful things. You are so kind for reading my words, whomever you are. I say this now because perhaps now is when I need to be heard the most. The most terrifying thing to writers is that their voice is sinking. It's scary to think that someday, nobody really cares about what you have to say. What would we write about then? And would it even matter? Well. The answer is yes. Writing, with or without an audience always matters but it's always nice to have you here.
When I first entered university, I didn't know what to expect. It felt like I was a little lemon. My memories are happy and fresh. I didn't know anybody. Everybody took me on a mental trip. All these people, and I could do whatever I wanted with my time. I wanted to dance about it. Let the liberty hold my arms like puppet strings, as I oblige to the movements. It was glorious. The second year, I was more cautious, with friends and decisions. My third year went to shit because of all the stress that sat on my heart. I put too much on my plate and it became effort to eat. Now... it's my fourth year. I have no idea what to expect really. It's my final year, and I'm hoping that I feel like a lemon again. Not sour, but refreshed. I miss feeling accomplished. I want to learn and do new things. There' s just never enough to do and so I find myself doing nothing; frankly, pure hypocrisy to all the planners/schedules I set out for myself.
Right now, I'm at a changing point. Like I said, I'm not too great when it comes to these things. I'm at a point in life where I don't know whether to let go of things that I've wanted or just keep fighting for it. But tell me, is there any good in fighting for something that doesn't belong to you anymore? My anxious heart just wants answers to these questions, simply to know. Had I known where I was ending up a few years from now, I would probably be much more at ease. I guess that's the point of life. Not knowing. I just had much more in mind for my last year. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I've done nothing. I just feel like there's something missing all the time. And this missing thing? I feel as though I'm never going to get it. Ok, maybe not never.
Yours with wishful thinking and a heavy heart,
Me.
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