WEIGHTLESS

It’s been thirty days since my last post, and thirty minutes since my eureka.

Look I'm wearing wedges again; if you look at my feet in the photos, you can see it slowly slipping off, hahahaha

Ever since I posted this, I’ve been planning on what content I should publish on my blog for the new year. I haven’t itemized a list of highly implausible resolutions like the past years; heck, I don’t even have goals for 2014.I welcomed this year with one thing on my mind: I need to be braver. The past year has probably been the most courageous one for me yet (and no, don’t tell me it’s too late for these evaluate-2013-and-tell-plans-for-2014 posts), because I started dressing a bit better and I even started a blog about it—and I wanted that kind of courage to flow through me even more this year, you know, not caring what others think. A common misconception is that teenage girls dress up to impress others, but really, we just want to impress ourselves.

So that’s my plan.

(((I look pained; is it the wedges? I don’t know.)))

But ever since I went back to school, things were opposing my goal. I got anxious an awful lot, I’ve been awkward-er than ever, and I didn’t know what to wear because I felt bad in everything I wore—and in general, I felt bad in everything I did. I became a coward—which is bad, if you hadn’t noticed. I sulked up more often than I should, I got lazier, and found no point in any of the things I want to achieve (hence, the lack of posts). I just went with the flow—happy on the situations one is supposed to be happy, sad on the situations one is supposed to be sad, then empty in the moments in between.

 It started off as a really small, shallow rut that people my age encounter every time, no biggie. So I’m just going to let it pass, all the anxiety with no apparent reason. I’ve always been a mess—haven’t I gotten used to it?

So I decided that 2014 can just be one of those years where one great thing will happen, and I’ll remember it forever, burying the other 364 blurry days.

I know I sound like a cranky crybaby who’s lonely because things didn't go how I wanted them to, or someone really, really paranoid that gets very upset when something doesn't go according to plan. Of all the great things that happened to me in my lifetime, maybe there comes a departure.

BUT HECK. 

Gone are the days that I spill tears on paper as I try to piece myself together. I feel stronger—like I’m actually doing something. This post makes no sense but have I ever made sense? I’m trying my best to not care—I’ve said ‘yolo‘ shamelessly so much that I’m starting to actually believe in it. We’re all scared of dying, of conclusion, of oblivion (CAN I SQUEAL BECAUSE AUGUSTUS WATERS), of an ending. We all want an extension, even though we feel really miserable at times. Life is cruel, but it’s fun; going against stereotype is. If a man comes up to you with a gun, you would be scared. It’s not just an instinct; it’s our wants winning over us. We all know we don’t know (am I even making sense?) what our real desires are, so we crave for more life, so we can look for the things we really need while enjoying the things we think we need. 

But that’s not my eureka. We don’t need a longer life, we need a braver heart. That’s my eureka.

The wedges are off. I told you so.

So after spending 48 hours being sick in bed because of Astronomy Camp and reading Attachments by Rainbow Rowell, I have finally found it.

So if my word vomit actually makes you want to throw up, I’ll leave you with this song by one of my favorite bands, All Time Low.