I know I should engage your attention if I wanted my page to rake up an obscene amount of hits. I suppose, in doing that, I ought to say something highfalutinly profound to give the impression that I am "interesting."
However, as I mainly concern myself of trivial stuff (i.e. taming my ugly mop of hair; hunting for the Lint Monster that eats up my socks during washer spin cycle), I'm afraid that I wouldn't be able to pull off having an intrinsic character despite peppering this space with lotsa German words like "zeitgeist", "weltanschauung", and "volkswagen".
I am shallow, people of the universe. So shallow that I tidy up complexity by putting people into neat boxes of stereotypes using the question, "What's your sign?".
But when I tire of being shallow, I try to critique movies and books. And sometimes, when my insecurity-level spikes so low, I try to make myself sound so interesting by talking about philosophy. "Try" is the operative word here.
Please excuse me if I talk about me a lot. It's my favorite topic. Next to talking about nothing.
And when one talks about nothing, nothing becomes something. And it's called "crap".
There are no sunny skies at the moment for 25 because of 22
June 21, 2008I loved life at 22. I think I loved it too much that now at 25, ghostly recollection of stupidities came popping out of nowhere. The world used to be large, but nowadays, I feel claustrophobic; seeing corners and almost bumping at them.
At 22, the moon was a friend, wrapping its dim glow around my solitary soliloquies on nights that I can’t sleep. Today, it won’t even say hello behind hazy clouds. It’s the same thing with the rain. I used to love walking under it. Now, I shiver at its unkind downpour.
At the moment, I feel like running down the streets naked, flashing everyone’s subsconcious of what I would like to bare. That or fly across every corners of the world, trying to broaden the narrowing space I’m in. However, I can only content myself now with the calming presence of a lover that understands all and accepts everything.
I’m sure Life , with its fantastic sense of humor, laughs at the joke I’m in. I only wish I could laugh too at the punchline it gave.
P.S. It was originally accompanied by a poem by Liz Lochhead. But I took it down because it was too revealing. I know it prolly doesn’t make sense , but I’m blogging for me now. And I’m taking advantage now the real purpose of blogging: to write in a form of release.
P.S.S. No thanks to Ah-de for the thigh two! :p
Previous Comments
Accompanied by Liz Lochhead’s poem (i removed here), you’ll know that it isn’t about that, Ah-de. 
Quarterlife crisis much? I’m actually going through that exact same phase. I think it’s rather normal, Thigh Two.
Posted by Ade at June 22, 2008, 6:20 pm