Myshkin Thoughts

SO… NFG

Quiet. I haven’t gone to my job for two days. The worst of all is, I don’t care.

I used to close my eyes when things were quiet like this. I would take a bar of chocolate, and begin writing. My hands didn’t tremble. I wasn’t scared of dying in a fire the other day. It just felt uneasy somewhere in my chest. And that was what living does make you feel, I thought.

I am on my bed, as usual. I dislike writing on here because it makes me nervous. I could come back and re- read them. Something scolds me for making no sense. I don’t want to make sense today. In my dreams, I saw myself unable to come back to where I am now, my old life was dragging up from my feet, and honestly, I didn’t have a passport to get out. I know these really sound like bullshit, but they aren’t, trust me.

My cat is my only joy. She is so sleek and funny, sometimes extremely witty I can’t stop thinking about the old Egyptians taking the cats as Gods. Then, well, she tries to chase the fake bird making high- pitched noises, then I ridicule humanhood. This is not a word?

Why Did Egyptians Worship Cats in Ancient Egypt? | Cats in ancient egypt, Ancient egypt, Bastet — okay they are really cool and I am kind of beyond history sure there were lots of rats in ancient Egypt.

My mind is as if a jumping rope visiting one cloud to the other. I have no care for my right, or wrong- doings and am waiting for an alarming situation to wake my desire for survival back up. As I moved in to this nice place, I feel like it just died away, as discomfort is not my best friend recently, and I’ll avoid it however I can.

I also dyed my hair to gray, taking my brother’s advice. No, I didn’t take an advice, i just did what he told me to do. He said, if I were you I’d dye it gray, and then for some reason, I did that. I wanted to be blonde again, but no chance. Gray, on the other hand, looks irritable on me so I will re- dye it to pink tomorrow. Why do I keep dying my hair to colors I dislike? Inform me s’il vous plait

I also need to study French, so many things, my friends. All I need is to sleep. Maybe I will begin feeling like restarting again. No? How will I make my living? Oh, no… Anyways, too much drama for today.

An Empty Snail

It started again. The consuming thing slowly creeped into my brain. It took whatever it could from the little hands of my soul. Explain.

Sure, today, the first day of class, people talked about what they want to be and so on. they rummaged about their dreams. they kept talking about how passionate they are in what they do. but, what hurt me the most was different. I felt like I cannot get up yet. I feel trapped and most importantly, a little snail carrying the heaviest burden on my head. emptiness.

It's a Lefty! Welcome to the World's First Crispr Snail Baby - The New York Times

Where do you see yourself in 10 years? think about that, said the professor. I couldn’t. I don’t see myself in tomorrow, how can I imagine such a destination? ten years later. where would you want to be, professor insisted. Maybe, I would like to be a writer. and that’s all.

yet for that, one must write. even more, one must continue to do so as hard as possible, as free as possible. i know I must write and that will be the only thing in my future career options that would make me happy. I don’t see any point in becoming a lawyer or some other thick- eyebrowned- jobs. They are cool, for sure, and at school, everybody adores becoming a lawyer. they treat this ability, of having such an identity, as if, its dream makes them as they are, perfect?

Why don’t I write then? Why do I keep torturing myself? Why can’t I hold my own hands and come to an agreement that this life, as it is with all its nonsense, has to continue?

You Are Not Okay And You’ll Never Be

an existential portrait of a woman Painting by Nadezda Baruns | Saatchi Art — Today, I realized something. I realized that I was a fool for believing in what I wanted to believe.

What are you running for? What is your destination? Why this hurry, my friend, are you lost?

People are, in fact, in a continuous pain that you can actually realize it, if you know where to look for the human soul. They are, however, in a stubborn resistance and neglect of their pain so that they will not feel, they will not see the actual self that makes them who they are. What will you see when you truly look at the mirror? A corpse that covers a pained soul, a cursed soul who was sent from paradise itself, or else, if you are an atheist or have a secular approach to your existence, your body is only a collections of dust, of which, will transform into dust after serving you around seventy years of its existence. Your breath, yes, one day the air will cease to come to you so light, so pure. One day you will detest the food you eat, for it will hurt your stomach. One day you will pray your God that death comes you more sooner than it has been planned. But, on the other hand, you will ask me: I have seen people who had no problem in life? Yes, I have seen a crowd of them, millions of them who seemed to be happy, seemed to be fulfilled. But my friend, you are looking at it from a wrong angle. A smile of a human tells nothing about himself, except his character. A man may seem happy, a woman may laugh, children may think the moon could be made of sugar candy. It does not matter. They cheat themselves, we all cheat ourselves that there is, in fact, some more meaning in this world than to suffer. To suffer. To suffer…

However, I salute those who actually try to find a meaning higher than themselves, so that their existence will not burden them as such anymore. So that life makes sense. Humans fought in wars, sacrificed their children, ate each other’s flesh, so it would all makes sense as if their existence would be something higher than what is. But you look at yourself one day, before your death —if you feel like it— and will see that even your corpse is an illusion, your family, your friends, your work on the other side. You will see that you did not come to this world to find happiness as modern life mostly offers us as if that’s a given by personal development. No. You did not come to world to find happiness but you are here to seek your own suffering. Learn through your own suffering. Feel what you are, and continue, because this life is, hopefully, only a one time thing.

A Mind Full of Nada

I don’t give a nada!

Peace comes from within. Do not seek it without.

Today, I did not seek the light of truth or right way of living in Buddha’s teachings nor questioned the capitalist understanding of meditation. I simply learned mindfulness by using the most essential tool to my existence: breathing.

It was my first meditation experience. Why did I want to do it? I figured accessing to a professional help was taking too much time, and why not try this thing for once?

I sat in my bed, embarrassed by myself for imitating the cool hand posture the Buddhists make when they meditate. And then, I started breathing. I breathed, and I listened my breathing as I was listening my existence in a dark universe (my eyes were closed.) Then I started thinking about my problems. My problems made my chest feel like melting iron, I don’t know how else to describe that. But, for once, I said to myself: be honest with yourself, no lies.

Aang Peaceful GIF - Aang Peaceful Atla - Discover & Share GIFs — In this confusing path, we may be forgetting that we are only human.

You know what? Being honest with yourself can be very hurtful. Not because of the truth’s striking pain, but your honesty makes you realize that you have been lying to yourself all along. About important things. In my case, I realized, I was lying myself about who I was. I still don’t know who I am, of course. However, I can tell you this, as I breathed, I cried so hard.

No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.
A Buddhistic quote

In the end, though, while I was laying in my bed with exhaustion, I felt… relief? Yes, yes, that’s the word. My melting iron problems were still there. And yet, for some reason, I felt better about myself. I still do. So what is this? Am I becoming a hippie? Hmm. You know what? I am all for it because, I wanna breathe a little.

Becoming A Tornado

Towering Tornado | Black Clover Wiki | Fandom — and he disappeared as everyone casted their eyes upon him. It was an ending. And yet, she knew some endings lasted forever.

Here I am, sitting in my studying+dining+resting chair, thinking about the dream I had tonight. In this universe of my imagination, a tornado was coming into town. I was so close to it, waiting in awe, and it was a tornado you know —doing its tornado thing—destroying everything, scaring people off, turning the trees upside down, and so and so… As the “village people” (who the hell are we?), we are concerned that this tornado is actually a crime, maybe a curse a witch has sent to town. Hence, we are looking for the person caused it. I have a son, or someone I love, or was that me? We learn that he is the tornado. When this kid get upset or sad, he becomes a tornado, and as my village friends say, this kid gets upset a lot. In the end, they wanted to persecute the kid, like that would help, and I was defending him.

Well… I am a modern- traditional person, so I looked up what this could mean psychologically. I wrote to Google search, seeing a tornado in your dream, and enter. It means that I was seeking a destructive path in my life, maybe because of sadness or anxiety. I was confused, how? I said to myself, then I remembered I was spending my time thinking about a dream, searching its meaning, and writing about it in here. I am suppose to write an essay on a story, instead, I was sleeping and dreaming about this tornado. I don’t want to do it. I will do it, but I am concerned about this semester. What am I doing with my classes? Ironically, I am still writing here. But, I will go and do my homework, NOW. I have to. I wish I could find a reason to study. I don’t want to fail, but that’s not a reason, that’s something I don’t want to do. I need to find something I want to do, or I might turn into a tornado and destroy everything I have. Would I really do that? I think I am doing that. No, no. I will be positive. I like writing. How bad can writing an essay on a story be? I was great at that! I can do it. Okay. Now…

The Foreigner/ WoaaTh!

The Foreigner POSTER (S) | wolf chung | Flickr

My last post was on not speaking for 17 years, wouldn’t that be weird if I did not speak like that? Well, I do speak, and that causes some problems recently. Whenever I speak, for example, people get annoyed or look at me suspiciously, probably asking themselves, who the heck brought her here? Or, how dare thy foreigner speaks in our presence? Well, suck it losers.

So school is not going well. For now, I had only one thing that made me happy, oh, let’s say two things. First, I do speak. I don’t know why but I can’t control it, when I have an opinion, it does not stay in my foreign mouth. It disturbs people, because their minds want to put me into the category of a foreigner, which does not belong in a social science class, God forbid the government. They pictured me in a CS class maybe, or as a nurse, you know, someone who would serve you, not lead. In their consciousness, I am a bug, they keep asking, is this a dream or a nightmare? Did she really say that? I did, sucker, digest it somewhere else.

Cartoon characters of foreigners (Page 5) - Line.17QQ.com

The second thing is a person, which is crazy stupid but I tend to do this wherever I go. I find someone and develop affections for that person, he or she would have no idea, and mostly end up not liking me. This is probably because of my fear of intimacy. In one of my classes, I found this dude who is weirdly funny, and I won’t describe him here. He represents something to me, a symbol, une broche de famille. I know what he has that attracts me, a courage, a desire to be unique. I used to have that until I gave up on it. I sold ma broche the moment I was in trouble. We are in a group for a project now, and it will be awkward. Why? I know myself, and I will make it awkward even it is not.

I was also searching for a provider for my anxiety and depression. I called the woman, she asked “for what, depression, anxiety, or..” I said anxiety! Whoa! How can you forget your depression, you may ask, the thing that makes you question everything you do in your life? I have anxiety, okay? I got anxious.

I am in real wonder what could make me more meaningful, I want to make sense. WELL, That’s enough. I should go.

Dare Not Speak For 17 Years

I decided because I argued so much and I talk so much, you see, that I was going to stop speaking for just one day – one day to give it a rest. And so I did. I got up in the morning, and I didn’t say a word.
John Francis, TED

John Francis did not speak a word for 17 years. Two years ago, when I was busy as a bee, I remember listening to this crazy TED story on the lousy bus going home from school. It was sunny outside, and people in the bus were as frowning as they were every day. I had homework and anxiety. People around me had no care and stone hearts. Then, I was stricken when I heard this guy not talking to anyone for SEVENTEEN YEARS.

First, the first thing came to my mind was “he must be crazy.” I was convinced he was crazy, then John Francis told the broadcaster when he started to actually speak in 17 years. It was in his or someone else’s birthday party, where he had his friends and family celebrating, happy, and secure. Then boom! magic! Later, I was thinking why he did not speak, again. I thought someone or some people must have broken John’s trust to words so much, he never spoke until that trust was repaired in such moment. Maybe it was repaired during 17 years, but in my imagination, the circumstances of the moment he started to speak could not be coincidental. Or it was just because he wanted to avoid arguments, as he said in the interview. Well, hmmm…

Quiet Or Silence Royalty Free Cliparts, Vectors, And Stock Illustration. Image 115276612.

Then, I began thinking about my words, and my trust to words, and my trust to people with my words. At that time when I heard this broadcast, I did not enjoy conversation (still I don’t) and the only person I trusted with my words was my best friend who lived 8.000 miles away from me. Now I realize I did not even tell her how I felt, but listened what she felt about things. Our lives were similar in a way, so when she told me about how she felt about her parents, boys, or school I felt a little bit relief. Sometimes she listened my outbursts. We were a good team of anger bunnies. However, this year I realized she did not care about me as much, and I stopped talking to her. That instance, she dropped our friendship, did not even try to save it. Our friendship must have been a sank ship, I was just the one who looked at it underwater.

It wasn’t her fault though, I say to myself. For years, I rejected telling people about the things that frustrated me. You know why? Because people do not care about you, me, or they. People care about their I‘s. Because I believe in this, and had two of the people whom I trusted treated me like a transparent water bottle, in which it did not matter if there was water inside, you could always see through, if you wanted. You always wanted to see through.

Well, I was thinking about John just now, who did not speak for 17 years. I was thinking about my experience with words. Later, I was thinking why I don’t enjoy people. John said in the interview, he saw no point in talking. I think we are alike with John, but John is more honest and brave about this. Maybe he was hurt more than I was, or maybe he had other reasons not to speak. As I said, it is all in my head.

An Oblomovian Existence

Oblomov: Goncharov, Ivan Aleksandrovich: 9781479129935: Books - Amazon.ca

“When you don’t know what you’re living for, you don’t care how you live from one day to the next. You’re happy the day has passed and the night has come, and in your sleep you bury the tedious question of what you lived for that day and what you’re going to live for tomorrow.”
― Ivan Goncharov, Oblomov

Oblomov can be the most boring novel you read, or it can be the book that lights an escaped ray to a forgotten window of your life. While I was reading this masterpiece seven years ago, I hated Oblomov. During my readings, I often dropped the book in my hand by falling asleep. However, later Oblomov was a half ghost I thought about before going to sleep at nights. Why did he choose that life? Wasn’t he right about many matters? What if I was caught by the Oblomovian syndrome?

The character Oblomov is a man who lives his life without passion, intention, and destination. His means are provided by the farm he had inherited, his house is taken care of by his servant, and his time disappears as he lies in his bed, for what? nothing. Until, there is always an until except in Oblomov’s case, he falls in love with Olga, who the author describes as someone different, someone who has control in her life. And yet, our Oblomov is Oblomov. Even though he tries to follow this spark of passion, his love soon catches stillness like a butterfly put in space. Rather than love, Oblomov chooses to marry someone who cooks, cleans, and spends more than half of his income. I was haunted by how author had described this woman’s arms, the quickly moving plumb, white arms as the attraction while Oblomov was stricken with Olga’s manners and mind. Our Oblomov dies in the house of this convenient woman.

To Oblomov, life is something to endure, even if it is a happy life. Things are only illusions, and they don’t have meanings. To Oblomov, everything is empty.

What made me think of Oblomov today was my late behavior in life. When I am stuck in myself, thinking I am worthless, or life is worthless, I try to imagine myself as a book or movie character. For now, I am a Oblomov with a Oblomovian syndrome.

I think many of us are Oblomovs in some matters, though. When you don’t follow your passion because you are lazy, and you think, “does it worth it?” Does it worth it to feel the ultimate pain of rejection, the exhausting drive of passion, the embarrassment of wanting it more than others? Do I have the strength even? To get up and watch the sun rising for a new day?

“But what was he to do? Stay where he was or move on? This Oblomovian question was for him of even deeper significance than Hamlet’s ‘to be or not to be’.”
Oblomov

The Moment Kills All

The moment was all; the moment was enough" - Virginia Woolf | The words, Worte zitate, Literarische zitate

The moment suffocates me. The moment makes me feel guilty of other past and future moments that are ruined. It chases me. What is all that is about the moment that crushes me? Is that the burden of “choice?” What can I do to feel everything is alright about moment?

“Enjoy life. There’s plenty of time to be dead.”
Hans Christian Anderson

The thing about people telling us to enjoy life in a cool way is that I don’t think it works. Oh! I should enjoy life when my past traumas bother me every moment? Should I enjoy life seeing that injustice and stupidity had found a way to conquer the world. Or is that the people who will hunt me because of their ego’s? Who never listen? Really, if you find a solution to enjoy life, not live a life of endurance, please let us know. I am stuck.

I don’t want to do anything with it because I feel like I can’t take the frustration anymore. I want to trust something. I used to had the will to live the moment and enjoy my time but now I am terrified of losing. Or is that not it?

The other thing about moment is it is set to absorb itself. We have a limitation of happiness and sadness. When you feel too sad, at one point, you will start to feel happy. It is a cycle. The moment, too, is a cycle. You might think the moment worth great of a deal, sometimes it does, but sometimes it does not. In the end, it is nothing. I mean, really, how much the collections of moments, life, worth?

I know I am talking nonsense. But what else I can do?

I Accept a Promise of a New Life

Charlie Cunningham - Bite Lyrics | LyricsFa.com

“Stone cold faces let you keep you poisoning your blood
Cut you open then you’ll see poison in your blood”

I like this song. More than that, I was this song. But there is always healing. Right now, I think I began healing.

Oh, isn’t this wonderful! I have achieved my dream of having an apartment to myself. To listen something in a loud microphone, to make mistakes while cooking, to dance while cooking, to not hate some other person’s existence, which was my fault sometimes to be too strict in house rules, but what could I do? It is me writing in a dorm apartment, for which, I worked my ass of to achieve. It feels great. Sometimes I wake from my dreams, and thank God for what I am given.

I even met someone. Today I met a girl who spoke my language, but because I refuse to speak my native language, we spoke in English. She was very understanding of my decision. She even told me about a group I can get in. I feel like we are so alike with her, but I don’t know if I should want a friend right now. I don’t know if my depression will allow me to love someone with their (natural) mistakes. Maybe I should wait first, and listen myself in solitude.

I used to want things from life, well I still do, but I am not so lured any longer. I feel like there are two choices in life: either you have a life you want by working hard or you act for a script that was written by old aged bitch called circumstances. Then, I ask, what is all that for? I want to change circumstances, but sometimes, somehow, I find my will disappear.

I thank God very much for everything right now. I have shelter, food, and the means. If I try, I know I can make things go well. About what? Hmm…

I will wait for healing. I need this healing.

I am learning French. The class is very nice. People are very nice too. How come we see nice people around. Where were they before?

Anyhow, I am letting myself discover, and even make mistakes.