July: Questions vs. Emotions vs. Actions

What make me truly unique? What makes me, me? It’ been a question since less than fifteen minutes ago I saw a video about this question by Mr. Robert Greene. Is it that I like to read like anyone else? Annotate? Write and create something out of thin air because let me tell you that recently I have felt empty even in my own writing. These are just the thoughts that have occurred to me yesterday, after a conversation with my parents, am I good enough? Am I lazy? Do I really do nothing?

As they see what I cannot see, but what is it what I see that they cannot interpret that I do? One of my friends told me he just sees me as a friend and saw something very coincidental, and I told him that I do not like him. He made it clear. I made it clear. And I have denied myself of this feeling and I do not want to listen to it. That I really do not care but I in fact do care very very much. In which in turn I’ve been a mess of pent up emotions like a crystal, fragile and ready to be dropped, literally.

Back to Robert, he says, “When you are born you are planting a seed, and that sed is your uniqueness.”  So, I ask again to myself, “What makes me unique?”  Is it that I like spicy food, prefer a text or voice over rather than a formal call? Yes, I enjoying seeing people face to face sometimes depending if they are close or not. Because being unique has to do like, Robert said, “It has do to with things that attract you. What is it that excites me? What is it that I am drawn towards?” my, primal inclinations was the wording he used. Well, let me tell you that I wish I could go to libraries and stay at my local library to just read books and have a day with books and I. I do not drive, nor I have a car. My parents are busy, and I apparently do not do anything other than, “be on my phone.” I don’t want to work at a McDonalds, Kroger, HEB, Seven Eleven, Whataburger, Burger King, Walmart, or nothing like that. I could, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to work in things that will take up my time of, writing, reading, and now I thought about that I have not been writing, reading as consistently at all! Like what? Yes, it excites me. I read a lot more than I can hold a proper a conversation with someone else and that is just me. Do I have freedom?  Well, I have to let my mom or dad know where I am going and for how long but that rarely happens. Do we travel, yes of course a lot. I am grateful for that but apparently they say I am not because I do not show it. I apologize for my lack emotional showing emotions, but I just fall of sometimes.

I do not have to be publishing every single minuscule little thing that I pick up for everyone, I just wait till they notice, and it is not really my problem if they do or not, but critics never seize to stop, do they? Just because I do not say something out loud doesn’t mean I didn’t do it. I just don’t feel like saying it out loud because I feel like it is personal and wait for you to notice instead of pointing it out. That is just me and how I am and managed the things I do. Just because I do not tell you, “Hey I cleaned the kitchen stove with Clorox until 12AM you’re welcome,” No. I wait for you to notice the next morning, if you do and tell me something. I you do not notice, well then I will most likely forget about it as well or just be silent all day. I will most likely also point it out if it was something obvious. Today my brother asked me, “Do you need help with that box?” It was big rectangular carton box. He asked me repeatedly until I answered, “No. Obviously not.” He was like, “Ok I’m sorry,” I had no attitude with him that was his perception, and I calmly told him, “With an obvious question comes and obvious answer, you’re good.” So, the questions in my mind are obvious, questionable, and unreasonably high of my own expectations of myself, but are the answers obvious? No. They are not or maybe some are clear, and others are not really that clear at all.

Again, this ties unextraordinary with the question that I asked at the beginning of this little entry, what makes me, me? I suppose what makes me, me it is writing. Writing is a way for me to ponder on my thoughts and let them out that fiction, nonfiction, magic realism, essays, journaling, words are always there. Art. Art is always there for us to watch and see what the artist is trying to tell us. Look at nature, the rain, the sun, the moon, the stars, the clouds, the sunrise, the sunrise, and the wind. Old films. New films. Cinema. Cameras. Lens. Editing videos. Graphic design. Languages. Learning new things in a different language is fun. Something that maybe conveys something that I have to say to myself and to the world. The act of helping people at a grocery store with a cart. Little kids smiling and having fun at the playground. But why is it that all of this feels like it isn’t enough for anyone around me? Or is it enough for me? I love art. I love and enjoy anything creative.

But is creativity enough for me to be myself? The person who I am. Who I want to be? What I want to do and become? Wanting to learn many things at the same time is a problem I often find myself in a bit of a rush. I am overwhelmed even with all the stuff I want to do. But what stuff? I know what I want to do, but I’m such a contradiction for myself. Emotions come and go. Gut feels are easy to detect. And my brain feels like paranoia, not all the time. I wish I could just go to the places I wish to go without having my own restraints and doubts, also known as imposter syndrome. In Spanish this is called, ser pendejo, hold, I know what you are thinking no in Colombian Spanish it means, “stupid!” Google translate is wrong. Feelings for a friend eventually wither out and you are just friends at the end of the day. You make plans with others and go see a movie in theatres. Others stay at home and bed rot. Read a little here and a little there. I want to live yet, trying to change, trying to speak, but I shun myself from speaking.

Trying to be consistent yet I haven’t accomplished anything now that I think about it and others around me are which demoralizes me down making me compare myself to others. Harsh reality of being a kid, society even if you try tuning it out, society is still there. Harsh reality of also wanting something so bad but you haven’t accomplished your goal. If I just write, write, write, write, it will be crappy, messy, and bad, and if I just write a couple 1,000 words it’s still bad because I’m too slow. Time. All is time and what, who or when we spend time in, with, and on.

From all the books I have read about self-help, goals, organization, the power of our brains none, I and day this wholeheartedly, NONE have helped me in this interesting regression of mine. No seminar. No coach. No camp. No work. No talking. And may I forget things a little too quickly seemingly happening like a blur of a pile of things, but it is true. Nothing has helped me. I want to change but my actions do not flow with my mind. You see the contradiction I speak of? So, if I write, like I am writing my book, then does that mean I can game on my phone two hours later after writing knowing it’s a Thursday at 3PM and not finishing up the book I am reading?  All the schedules. Nothing. I do not use them. It is pointless in my eyes. I don’t really know how this all ties to “being unique” I am explaining how I feel and deconstructing my mind right now for you. If I really want change then why am I not changing to be a better version of me? Do I need to try even harder?

I really can say that this is just a reflection of myself momentarily now. I do not have a lesson to give you just my plentitude of thoughts. Just a person who wants to get this out of their system with emotions and pondering that I had to write to just express my thoughts. Freely just me without edits, with horrible grammar, and sincerely me.

Thank you Robert Greene.

Carpe Diem,

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