I’ve recently felt so low that I’ve attributed something really insignificant and small that one of my closest most trusted person did and turned it into a petty belittling act of mistrust that like a ripple effect made me feel even lower. It’s how your brain works when you’re at your lowest, when it becomes this hostile place of war against you, turning each and single insignificant act around you into malice, feeding into the biased loop of self loathing and sabotage.
I think I was idolising you, and now I realise you’re just this normal person, going through life in this normal way, and the depth and intricacies and the fascinating aspects of who I think you were, were all but imagined. There is no depth, there is no profoundness, there is no weight to the words that you say. There is just this very normal, ordinary existence, with no need or search for purpose, with no seeking for a deeper understanding of life.
Words, words, words. There’s so many of them all the time, in our heads, in our phones, on TV, in front of us, ahead of us. Where does it end and where does it begin? There are words of truth, of deceit, of love and of hate, and anything in between, but is it ever enough? Why do we always crave more?
I often have to check in with myself and challenge my own biases and prejudice, because our unconscious bias, it’s always real, no matter how much we strive to do better and fight it. I too sometimes have to interrogate my thoughts, in the face of severe differences of science versus fiction, facts over spiritual or esoteric, supernatural spiritual beliefs.
Travel is the easiest route that people choose to make themselves seem interesting and to feel interesting on the inside. I guess it is easy enough to mistake the pleasure of being in these new exotic, far away places, surrounded by people from foreign cultures, by culprits of their foreign heritage, art, food and music, and taking pictures and videos and selfies as a symbol of cultural immersion in on if itself. But is it? Does this surface level shallow form of cultureness really qualify for, well, being cultured?