From however little I know about the behavior of myself, I think due to some extent my cognitive dysfunction as in imagining out loud to myself what people might say about me can be accounted for the fact that I, unknowingly, form this unhelpful habit to reaffirm the seriousness of the situation by making myself feel because nothing makes you remember than a stinging feeling of sadness, inferiority, loneliness, incompetent, and what have you.

Perhaps this is a part of the introspection journey handed down to me. Perhaps it was one way my super ego tries to make me better by being critical and exploiting my own imagination.

It begins to become a lot clearer now as I understand more what lie ahead for me. Awaiting along this road of self-discovery is a 1 ton perfectionist superego sitting on a high-rise throne thinking foolishly that perfection exists and that the only way to achieve it is to be constantly critical, setting high expectations, and scrutinizing painfully until "the lesson is learned". It makes a big deal out of mistakes which is okay but equating that inability to avoid mistake as part of unworthiness of self is not. This superego has a lot to learn.

Wanting to be good and better is a part of the flaw in my design I guess. It stings a bit to know you could have done a better job at something. And that's me. My plan would be to navigate through these thorns and reclaim the throne by being skillful in letting go, moving on, and laughing at the blunders and mishaps happening all around. I feel deeper now the meaning of this too shall pass.

Thinking on Poetry

To me, poetry offers more freedom than writing short fiction. It seems to take less efforts with even less plotting and scheming. Poetry just is. Broken words. Broken lines. Incomplete sentences. Rhymes and leniency to just say fuck. I have the liberty to pour down what I'd like to read without having to necessarily conform to a rigorous expectation. I mainly write what I want to read.

Honestly, one of the main attraction is it's shortness. I'm a big fan of short poem with surprising tenderness that tucks at the heart string. Good, whimsical imagery would get my vote. If my thinking is not too charred with lack of creativity, poetry to me is picture translated into words.

I most often find my voice in literature written by someone else. It is one more reason I think we're infinitely linked as a divine collection of spirits. Then, I just have to remember that I am never alone at any given moment. And I hope that other people could understand the intricacy of this bond we all share when they mistakenly think they're alone when they're not with someone.

At one point or another, someone has been in my situation, feeling what I feel while perhaps making any of the choices I could have made. Knowing this somehow I feel okay being by myself.

The theme would be loneliness. It's not always there but it does come and go like other waves of emotion. It's probably an indication of my lack of connection with the one person I have with me all along. Me. And here I am finding myself again writing this blog trying to record some clues that can help put these puzzles of thoughts and ideas of who ME is. The puzzle is yet to be complete but i can see that this puzzle of mine is shared by others. I'm not doing alone or just for me. I'm with you.