I found the most strikingly honest pieces of writings in books, and not in any other forms of printing. I guess one has more freedom and power as the author of a book than of an article, printed or online. 'Shut up. You don't get to talk - to voice your opinions - to say anything against me right now.' The moment you open a book and start to read it, you should be a mute and humble passenger in an unfamiliar world. Many times, too unfamiliar, what have you got to say?
This should be a reminder for myself to read books more. I don't read books often.
My days seem to be a monotonous string of inactivity, physical and mental. I seem to forget how to use my power of choice to bring out even a smallest change. I just picked to eat a too-sour clementine from the clementine box I bought this noon. In my ideal world, I only bought the right things. I ate only the things that contribute positively to my well-being and taste wonderful at the same time.
I remember random moments in my life. Moments when I'm alone, thinking. I remember some of them more dearly than most big meaningful moments. I remember once walking along a small road behind my A-level school, thinking that the only solution for me is to learn to do every single thing from scratch. How to walk. How to breath. How to open and close my eyes. How to turn around on a rare occasion when I heard vaguely my name being called. Occasionally I feel a strong sense that everything I do is utterly wrong. But I don't think much about the negative things someone may have mentioned about me. A poor spatial sense. I hit people too often when I walk. My choice of jeans makes my legs look fat. My skin is too dry. Not those kinds of things. I think simply that if I walked in the right way and breathed correctly, I would be a perfect thing. But I don't - I'm not. How depressing.
If you know me enough, you must have heard me mentioning these things. Honesty. Monotony. A cup of tea. No cup of tea. I just finished it. This year I bought such a huge box of tea I will never finish it. How depressing.
Today as I was rambling to my boyfriend on the bus, I realised I talk about the same things again and again. I told him that I should find new stuffs to talk about. He suggested we talk about that manhole door we saw. I thought it was a very interesting thing to talk about. We started to talk about it gleefully. But soon after that we reached the market - where I bought the clementines. The conversation about manhole doors was interrupted. I forgot about it. I spent the rest of my day talking about my old stuffs again and eating clementines that are too sour.
I was lying. We also had a minor fight. We reconciled. I said it's so obvious that I'm always right in this relationship - why you even have to wonder otherwise. I know he wonders that sometimes, which is such a wrong thing to do. We had sex. The whole thing took three hours and a bit more. I will use that as an excuse why I didn't get to read that book I borrowed from the library earlier.
I have to make a confession. Sometimes I get slightly aggravated when my boyfriend is sleepy. I feel like it's his way to dominate me gradually - forcing his sleepiness on my attention - manipulating me to change my ways of things because of his sleepiness. What's his real plan under all these cuteness and loveliness? I suspect everything. But sometimes he goes to sleep because of a coming migraines. Headaches and stuffs. Such good reason. How can I complain?
So I'll go to sleep with him.
