Thoughts (four)

I used to think I’d found a way to bypass ostensibly detrimental emotion; that, for example, if at the exact time I was upset I realized the ephemerality of that feeling, and that it eventually ends, it would render the feeling impotent and I would stop being upset. But that never really worked except on the few occasions when the sadness, say, was too insubstantial and it went away by itself, so it was never my ingenious method but, all along, the intrinsic weakness of the factors involved. But now I realise how wrong I was, and how foolish my attempts at inhibiting my own emotion were: if not this, why—and more importantly, how—shall I feel anything else? Why not scratch off happiness too, banish passion as mindless obsession, and vilify longing as weak, despicable dependence?

I think this attempt at control by rationalization has failed, or maybe I’m too much of an impetuous, capricious teenager to implement it. But that doesn’t matter, not so much as this new acceptance: for now I will feel, and I will be petulant, I will be erratic and I will be reckless and I will love myself and hate him, and feel like bludgeoning him with a spiked Florentine war hammer when he’s wrong, and exult in his triumph when he’s not so wrong, and I will think he’s stupid, too, and I will make the best of it all, because I’m supposed to.

It’s not the so much the incident as the aftereffect, what I do after the reaction’s happened, and I think that’s where my focus should’ve been in the first place. And I think I was wrong about the point of emotion, too, because I’m not stoic and I can’t narcotize myself into self-satisfied analgesia by thinking hard, because that is attempting to oppose the very thing about emotion: its immediacy, its impossible avoidance, its necessity. That’s what truly defines emotion. Maybe it was arrogance, thinking I could achieve that, thinking I could tame the beast that few ever have.

Also, I want to go back to when I first listened to Coldplay and discover it all over again.


  1. I don’t really know if you’ll reply to this or not, or if you even would like to reply. But, after reading so many of your posts, there’s something about you, that is just different. You remind me of Charlie from The Perks of Being a Wallflower. To me, you seem like just that, a Wallflower. You seem intelligent, but you don’t want to show it. Your writing gives a window of who you are. In a way, it is like your window to the world trying to say “I’m smart but I’m not, ” trying to say “I am human. I know how you feel.” You like to see the way other people are and the way they think. You like to envision life, but you also want to live it, while not missing a thing. Maybe I’m wrong and maybe I’m just over-thinking it. You want to be the nice person but feel like you might be doing it for yourself. Maybe I’m just over analyzing this as an anonymous person who thinks I know it all and maybe I’m just weird. Maybe what I really want to tell you is as much as I want to leave you and your writing in the past, I can’t. Maybe I’m a freak and just maybe…all I want to say is you are going to go a far way in life if you don’t let your own self get in the way. Maybe you’ll fall before your rise and maybe….just maybe….you’ll stop yourself from tripping when you catch yourself halfway.

    1. I can’t tell you whether you’re right about me. I discovered a while ago that I can only be so objective about myself, so I couldn’t tell you if you’re right or wrong. But I am flattered, both that you took the time to write this, and to analyse me enough to have something to write to begin with. But I hope you’re right, at least about the possibility of catching myself before I fall. I’ve never wished you any less than the very best in life. You know that.

      Also, please check your email.

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