Ephemeral

I want to evoke sadness. I want to spread the tentacles of darkness in the minds of readers like Sylvia Plath and Albert Camus did me. I want to go far, too far, in trying to illustrate some of my inexplicable emotions. I want to make you feel uncomfortable, but not so uncomfortable that you flee my writing. No, I want to elicit the kind of measured uncomfortableness that pushes you out of your comfort zone without actually pushing you. Like Anais Nin.
I want to own my corny romanticism and convince you for a fleeting moment that you too would benefit from believing in a soulmate who you are connected to by an invisible tether made up of energy and intuition, just like Rumi and Emily Bronte and Khalil Gibran.

I want to teach you what remains unwritten and unsaid about life.

I want to be alive. I want to dress according to function and comfort. I want to own my nightowl-ing lifestyle without guilt. I’ll never be a morning lark. Ever.
I want to be spontaneous and raw and weird. Some people make it their mission to always come across as weird and hipster-y to stand out, you know? I mean, the reason why hipster trends are a thing is because the trends – the hair style, the jewellery, the sneakers – communicate an identity. A collective identity that pretends to be authentic and individual. I’m not that kind of weird. Most of the time I’m bland and mundane and not noticeable. I’m an accidental weirdo. The kind that makes hipsters cringe or call me ‘problematic’ or whatever lingo is popular on Tumblr. I often post my controversial pieces with trembling hands, a quick pulse, and anticipatory anxiety.  But I sacrify myself at the altar of the Truth.

I’m a mouthpiece of my soul. Which is why I change my mind so often – I’m trying to ‘click’ with that feeling in my soul, you know? And I never stop until I get that feeling right. Which is why I never went to uni, or why I still haven’t gotten married despite all the pressure. I’m looking for something that I can’t put my finger on.

 

But I want to make people think, and feel. I want to disrupt the monotony of conformity, the drudgery of routine, the dullness of the expected.

Why? I’m not sure. Maybe it’s because I want to feel alive? If I can jolt someone else awake, maybe this life won’t be as boring and dull as I often perceive it?

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