I Wanna Be With You

I’d rather be poor and happy than rich and alone.

I first heard these lyrics on September 1st, 2013. Lady Gaga was performing a new ballad called I Wanna Be With You, which would later turn into the significantly less innocent Dope, at the iTunes festival.

(Did you think this was gonna be about you?)

I was freshly 14 at the time; yet still I found the lyric a bit cliché. Yes. Sure. Money can’t buy happiness. Yada yada yada. Funny coming from a multimillionaire, right? It’s not that I thought she was lying, but it was pretty unconvincing. I was glad the final song had switched the line for something more poignant (been hurting low from living high for so long).

As you can tell, since I’m making this post, it doesn’t end there. Yes, as I grew older, I started thinking about it quite a lot.

What do I want in life? I love things. Things are great. I enjoy spending money on food, on books, on useless junk from AliExpress. I love getting presents. I hate losing money. But does that make me materialistic? Those “preferences” are in no way rare – almost everyone can relate. But then again, there’s no denying the world itself is materialistic…

But what do I really want in life? In the wise words of Beyon-S Noles Female Pop Vocalist: “My aspiration in life… Is to be happy“.

Insert “you don’t say!” meme here. Yes, I know it seems obvious. But let’s think, do most of us really strive to be happy? 

Actually I’ll stop asking rhethorical questions and talk about myself a bit. I mean it’s my blog goddamit, I’m not giving a pep talk.

I want to be happy. And to accomplish that, I had to test out what works for me. Money can’t buy happiness? Who said that? This doesn’t go for everyone. I needed to find out for myself.

And indeed, it did apply to me. I will spare myself the pain of recapping the horrible experiences I had during last year’s summer job as a bartender; I’ll just focus on what came after. Yes, I made money, more money than I had ever had. I spent the following month doing whatever I fancied with it, living the “happy” life. I couldn’t deny that having money indeed made me feel better. 

But that was short lived. It ended, not even a month after I had gotten my paycheck. It ended and the fun ended with it. I wanted more money? I was gonna have to work another painful month. So is this happiness? Working until you hate yourself, then getting a few pieces of paper in return and worrying about when they would run out and you’d have to work again? 

As soon as I made that realization, I made a pact with myself: I was never going to do something I don’t enjoy for money again. It is just not worth it and the happiness it brings is conditioned by how much time I get before I’ll have to go back to doing that loathed thing. This is basically the definition of being enslaved by money. H e l l t o t h e n a h.

Some might say “well, this is life, kid”. I – ignorantly, foolishly, maybe even deludedly, call me what you wish – say no. See, my life isn’t that special: there are billions who live now, who have lived, and who will live long after I’m gone. If by any chance my refusal to submit to this horrible cycle leads to my life being a total failure, then be it; it’s not like hanging myself isn’t an option.

En bref, this is how I discovered that for me, abundant money will never be a constant source of happiness if earning that money will make me suffer emotionally. Building a fortune is just never going to do it for me. 

Am i really settling for “poor and happy” then? No. Sorry Gaga, but that’s way too black and white. Why not “middle class and content”? I’m perfectly fine with that! And that’s why I chose to major in English. I’m a bright student, and would virtually succeed in any domain I set my mind to. Those big money jobs, you know. But I just couldn’t see myself doing anything in a few decades except what I’m good at and enjoy doing, which is reading and writing. I know I have probably discarded my chances of being wealthy – and while I would like that, I don’t think I’d like it more than being satisfied with what I do for a living. I’m trusting myself on this one. 

Thank you, Gags. Thank you, Bey. Thank you, Byblos Sur Mer, you miserable fragment of hell. Thank you for showing me the way.

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Pity me, me.

Tomorrow is my 18th birthday party. 

I just caught myself hoping no one would bring me any presents so that I can pity myself later on about not having presents for my 18th birthday.

And some of y’all think I’m joking when I say I’m a psychopath.

These are the thoughts I keep.

I’m drowning in thoughts.

Typical. Why am I drowning in thoughts? 

I honestly do not have enough energy to try to find that out. Do I have to scrutinize every single thing I do? Let me be, dear self.

The thing is I’m tired of being against myself. Yes, I came here to lecture myself about how I don’t deserve to drown in thoughts because my worries are minimal. But I’m human. And I have thoughts. And I can’t stop them. Drowning might be an overstatement, but how captivating would it be had I written “I have a few thoughts”? Yep.

Thoughts about what, you might ask? A really, really mismatched array of topics. They go from brooding about the nature of my personality, to thinking about how Where Have You Been by Rihanna was my jam in 2011. I have a really good band I want to talk about but I feel like it would be too huge of an off-topic.

I don’t dislike my thoughts. I’m not particularly fond of them either. They’re just there, and I have to deal with their presence I suppose.

Enough bullshit. Why am I way too fucking good for people? Come on. I fucking love. I love so much. I put so much love out there and no one’s there to receive it. Or is it that they are so used to that love that they don’t notice it anymore? Would its absence create a void, or would it erase me from their minds?

I’ve been told I need to let people miss me so that they know my ‘worth’. What kind of friend would require of you to prove your worth? But that’s not it. I won’t fool myself and try to find excuses for what I am: a pushover. 

I am an incredibly weak person. I could spend days elaborating, but it would do me more harm than good. In short, not only do people walk all over me, but it seems I’ve been inviting them to do so with my full consent. My back is a metaphorical doormat. 

How? I let them take me for granted. No one, not a single one of my friends worries that Anthony would ever get seriously upset at them or leave. Anthony is weak, and he will always come crawling back, begging for forgiveness until he restores the status quo. Anthony hates conflict, and will claim any accusations and declare himself guilty of anything to avoid it.

I couldn’t face you, I can see that now.

I just took a look at the rest of the lyrics of the song I remembered this line from… And I am in awe.

Sometimes I push you, into the night;

To the darkest place, the only time we meet

But I won’t need to hurt; or for us to fight;

But most of the time these are the thoughts I keep

Celebrating Two Years of Inconsistent and Awful Posts!

Two years ago, on the night of my sixteenth birthday, I decided to be an angsty teenager. Furious, I took to my laptop and typed away at how UNFAIR it was that my sisters wouldn’t pass me the remote oN mY OwN fUcKen BiRthDaY!!1

The next day, I decided to create a place where I could share with the world these angsty thoughts, and even more of them. Thus was born the sad excuse of a blog you are currently reading.

Fast forward two years later, and… Here I am, writing an “anniversary” post, not on my birthday, not even on my blog’s birthday, but a day or two later. And this, ladies and gentleman, accurately portrays my wonderful personality traits: arrogant, lazy (okay now I’m quoting Snape), pretentious, always trying to fix what I could easily not have broken, and overall useless.

Does it matter that every time I think about this blog, I get a pang in my heart and an overwhelming feeling to come back and start taking care of it again, if I don’t put these feelings to action? No, it’s just one of my many pathetic attempts to console myself about being a failure at the most basic things. Isn’t it even more pathetic that I am sharing these thoughts with you? It’s like I’m almost pointing a gun to your heads, and whispering: “if you don’t post a nice comment about how I’m none of those things with at least three good adjectives, I will personally haunt your dreams as a guilt tripping ghost until you do. Bitch.”

No, I don’t want nice comments, or birthday comments, and I don’t know why the fuck I’m under the illusion that anyone is even gonna read this because I haven’t interacted with anyone in ages. Since I left the Blogger’s House Cup to rot in the dust, to be exact. I couldn’t even finish what I started.

I just don’t see what the hell I’m doing right now. Why am I dragging myself at 4 A.M. while listening to Ultraviolence? Am I trying to convince myself that I’m a tortured soul? Please. My life is the equivalent of cotton candy. I don’t know why I chose this atrocious metaphore. But I mean it’s a fucking piece of cake, and anyone else would’ve done much more of it. Is this trying to help me find myself or something? I don’t think it’s working. Daniel if you’re reading this like please find a better way to spend your time dude what the fuck.

Did I tell you guys? I earned a full scholarship to one of the best colleges in the country, to study English literature. How the fuck am I going to maintain my scholarship if it took me months to fucking write about it? I thought once I was done with studying the awful things of life a.k.a maths and science, I’d have time and energy to do what I want to do, to read, to write. But all I’m doing is literally NOTHING. As a punishment, I signed myself up for a Calculus III class in my first college semester as a free elective. Or was it me going to psychopathic lenghts to give myself something to complain about? Like that hasn’t happened before. Jesus Christ it’s almost funny. Don’t even feel bad for cackling internally, because I’m doing it too.
Guys, my best friend is doing Computer Engineering, but he has written a whole fucking story on Wattpad. It’s bad but like still. THAT’s how far behind I am. 

It’s also funny how I started this post thinking I would cheesily talk about how I missed writing here, how I’m finally an adult now, going off to college to explore life with a smile on my lips and a passion in my heart, but BULL FUCKING SHIT. I’m less of an adult now than I were when I started this blog. And you know what? I’m gonna hatefuck it. I’m gonna keep writing awful posts like this until all of you start hating me and I stop feeling unworthy of my 500 followers.

Good night my dearests! Lol

Breathe.

Do you ever take a moment to notice yourself breathing?

It happens on the spur of the moment, so randomly, and even pleasantly. I’d take notice of my own breathing. Right now, for example. Inhale. Type. Exhale. Think. Repeat. And I can’t fathom that I do this all. the. time. 

When it happens, all my focus shifts to that little phenomenon, as if I was witnessing a true natural anomaly. No matter how hard I try, I can never move my attention away from it, and everything I attempt to do to distract myself from this weird mantra fails to work. I always end up going back to thinking about breathing. And I always end up forgetting about it after all, one way or another, as with virtually all other things in life. 

I suppose that goes to prove that our minds truly have no guidelines. You can not force yourself to not think about something – at the end of the day, trying not to think about a thing still puts that specific thing in the limelight. It’s a simple, well known fact, yet that doesn’t stop us from always trying to steer our thoughts to or away from a certain thing, because really, what else can we attempt to do?

Breathing is just one of our core essentials. It’s not a sense, that some people might miss, but still lead somewhat normal lives. You don’t breathe, you don’t live. Period.

And goodness, how it feels good under the right circumstances. As with all things in life, you never notice what you have until you don’t.

Don’t you just miss breathing when you’re underwater for too long? When you press your nose against a pillow?  When you have a cold and your airways are ridden with obstructions? When you have to endure a trip to a public bathroom? When you’re stuck in the smoker’s section of a restaurant? When that moment comes, at last, to deeply inhale…

And can we just talk about breathing fresh air? This does not get as much recognition as it should. It’s often casually thrown into conversations, meaning that something is a welcome change of pace, or that someone is having time off. But just how satisfying is it to open the window of a musky room, stick your nose outside and just breathe? It’s a feeling of which I have a hard time pinpointing the origin. Is it the nose? The lungs? And if so, how can I feel my lungs? Is it my entire body? Cold, crispy, oxygen-rich air just feels so good. I have lived in a countryside village for a quarter of my life, and the difference is striking. 

Fresh air has become a luxury.

How I Chose My Future.

I’m sitting in my bed at night, trying to think of new ways to procrastinate, and suddenly sharing this news with you struck me as something I urgently needed to do.

I’ve got Ultraviolence on and I’m ready to tell the story of how I took a step into figuring out my future.

So last year, around this time, I finally stumbled upon a profession that I felt fit me. 

Architecture. Artistic, but still a usual and respected profession. “What do you want to be? An architect”, and that ended the conversation. No questions. An expected career for a top student.

Fuck it. Honestly. Fuck being a top student, for all the good it has done me. It singled me out as a ‘nerd’ for years, only because I had better grades than everyone else. Put a ton of pressure on me to stay up to par with my standard grades, and set my parents’ expectations to staggering heights. Made me force myself into picking a profession I thought ‘complemented’ my ‘intelligence’, as if intelligence equals science.

So there I was, telling everyone I finally found what I wanted to do with my life, telling myself that I made the right decision. I mean I get to draw buildings for people and be creative! No matter that I know absolutely nothing about drawing and have no talent in it whatsoever! Right?

Wrong. I was constantly convincing myself that it was alright, reading testimonies from people reassuring us that knowing how to draw is not essential to being an architect but ‘it helps’, trying to imagine myself working in an architecture firm and enjoying it somehow.

I elaborated this smart reply to every question:

‘What do you want to do?’

‘What do I want or what I will do? I want to study literature, but of course that’s not an option, so I’ll do architecture because it seems like something I’d not hate a lot.’

Why I was brushing off literature? Well our education system divides students into 4 categories: Math-oriented, Biology-oriented, Economics-oriented and Literature-oriented. Or as our society classes them, the Genius class, the Doctors class, the Lazy class and the Weird class. My grades obligated me to pick one of the two former. Why waste my intelligence on literature? 

That’s why I went with the Math section, and brushed off any thought of literature studies, even though I had one passion in life and that was reading. What happened to ‘doing what I love’? That meant nothing. Society says I must be an Engineer, or a Physicist, or a Mathematician. Literature? Leave it to those who can’t do math.

And now, having almost completed my General Science year, I can affirm that the most times I had to actually think and use my intelligence was during literature tests. 

I swear to God, anyone can do math. Anyone can do physics. Not anyone can read a text and understand and analyze it correctly. That’s rare intelligence.

But I am glad I did what I did. I am proud of my choices so far. I couldn’t be prouder. General Science was a bore and a pain in the ass, but it eventually helped me see clearly what it is I had to do.

It happened in the middle of this school year, during our mid year exams. It was sunday morning, a day before our Chemistry test, and I found I had not written almost half of our course. I texted my friends and asked them to send me what I was missing. Never in a million years would I have guessed that in that moment, I had also asked them to tell me what I was going to study in college.

‘Why haven’t you written any of this?’

‘I’ve been absent.’

‘Why have you been skipping school so often? Do you think you’re better than the rest of us? We really don’t enjoy school either but we don’t just stay home whenever we feel like it.’

‘Save your sermons. Does it look like I care anymore about fucking school?’

‘And why is that?’

‘Because I’m going to spend years studying something I really don’t fucking have a clue about, and my life is probably going to end up screwed.’

‘Whow. Where is this coming from? You don’t want architecture?’

‘I don’t know what I want.’

‘Just do what you love doing.’

‘Easy for you to say. You love technology. Your options and endless. I love books, what am I supposed to do with that?’

‘I don’t know, be an editor or something.’

Editor. Editor.

Has it ever happened to you? Have you ever read a single word that ended up changing everything, turning your whole life path 180 degrees?  

That word alone, thrown nonchalantly, was enough to open my eyes. It might seem too straightforward to be believable, but that’s how it happened. 

Do what I love. What do I love? I love writing. What do I love more than writing? Correcting people’s writing. That’s an actual profession. Studying literature is not just an abstract thing. I can actually do something with my life that I can enjoy.

And if my disastrous experience as a bartender this summer taught me anything, it’s that doing a job I do not enjoy is not worth any salary in the world. I made a vow to myself, that I’d never work unless I was satisfied, and here I am, fulfilling my vow. 

‘Editor. Yes. That’s what I’m going to do. Oh my God.’

‘Okay so maybe not editor but there are lots of things you could do!’ He thought I was being sarcastic.

In truth, I was standing there, in the middle of my room, eyes wide open and staring into nothing, thinking. This is not a far fetched theory. This is real. This actually could happen. This is not a joke. This is my future. This is NOT a joke. This is a REAL solution. WHAT HAVE I BEEN DOING ALL THIS TIME? WHY DID IT TAKE ME SO LONG TO REALIZE? 

Writing this right now, I’m thinking of ways to word this that will not make me sound like an idiot. But the truth is that I really was an idiot. I made myself renounce doing what I wanted to do, and for what reason? Literally, what reason? I was torturing myself over nothing. Nothing. All it took was a single word, and here I was, reevaluating my entire future. 

I had my reasons to go with General Science. But after that, it’s just me, and my school grades will stay marked on some report card in the confines of my documents. After that, every move bears consequences. I was inches away from making myself go into a field I had no business being in. And just like that, I decided it would be Literature after all. There really are no valid reasons I hadn’t even considered that until that moment.

I honestly feel like laughing at myself. Nobody does what I did. I was just so stupid it’s hilarious. Writing it down makes it feel so, so much more obvious. 

Yep. Just like that. I decided I was going to be an English major! It happened in a matter of hours, and my whole life lit up. I was in bliss. I could not care less about the Chemistry test, or any tests. I was going to do what I wanted. I was going to read for a living. I was going to have time to do the things I love doing, including blogging, which you *may* have noticed I have been seriously behind with.

I told my parents that evening that I was going to change direction. They were pretty shocked, but nevertheless encouraged me and sensed how happy it made me.

The next day, I went to the college I had applied to and changed my major from Architecture to English. I expectedly got pretty surprised looks, like they couldn’t believe someone with 780 on their Math SAT was going to study English (like the fact I got 730 on the English section did not matter). But they also encouraged me saying I had made a good choice, as tons of people were going with Architecture and Engineering and soon there would be no jobs left for them. I was so satisfied.

And now, every time someone asks me what I would do with my future, I put on a broad, honest smile and proudly tell them I am going to study literature. They ask questions, and I happily reply ‘that’s what I love to do’. 

I’m still not used to the idea. Every time I feel down, I recite it to myself like a mantra: I’m an English major. I’m going to do what I love.

Game of Thrones SLAYSSSS

LITERALLY

SO 

MUCH

My best friend had been convincing me to start the series for years, but I just couldn’t imagine myself liking a story about swords and wars.

I started season 1 before christmas break… Now I’m at season 5.

IT’S JUST SO EPIC! THERE’S NO BETTER WORD. The story is amazing, suspenseful, engaging, it takes your breath away and keeps you on edge, that’s just something I hadn’t found ever since I first read Harry Potter years ago! 

Everything about this series is breathtaking. Everything. The production is the best I’ve ever seen. ALL the actors play their roles to PERFECTION. The soundtrack is flawless. Like honestly how is humanity capable of such a feat?

I’ve been curious about this series for years and I finally get to experience its greatness. I’m SO glad I waited for now, it really feels like a great timing. I may not have fully understood it had I started watching it years ago. 

This may be the first time I ever watched something before its book. I feel like by doing this I’m betraying everything I’ve ever stood for, but cut me some slack. The book series would take me ages, what with senior year and college coming soon; I simply would’ve lost interest (I did try to read the first book but failed miserably).

The thing is that before I finish season 6, I could find a spoiler in the most unexpected of places (and I already have, I know 2 of the most important events that happen in the series during season 5 and 6. It sucks but what can I do). So I’m being VEEERY careful as to what I see online. On the bright side, I just have a dozen of episodes left and then I’ll join the rest of the world waiting for season 7!

AHH it felt good to write this post. I just didn’t feel like writing a sappy oh-ma-gash-I-been-away-4-so-long-sorry-guyz like I’ve done this a thousand times. I’m lucky if this post even still gets read.

So yeah, life has been extremely busy, I’m actually in the process of completing my college application and I’m working on my essay. This is crazy. When I started blogging, college was a thousand years away… Ah life. Constantly surprising us.

I hope I’ll be able to write more, now that I got a new phone with a screen that isn’t snapped in half and an actual working keyboard. 

I just miss this so much.

Valar Dohaeris.