I suppose people will wonder: what the hell does a 19 year old girl, raised in an upper-middle class life of decent privilege, know of grief? and I guess in a way, I ask myself this everyday. I've always thought too about how much of a contradiction I am - straddling the line between Desi and American, juggling my need for solitude and my want for social interaction, torn between my desire to be loved and respected and my blatant fear of putting myself out there. Or maybe I'm wrong, maybe I see myself differently than the way others do, maybe I put too much stock in the fact that I'm a Gemini born in the Chinese year of the dog. Applying characteristics to myself for so long that habit has no become ingrained qualities. Adhering to the story fate and the stars apparently are said to tell just because it's easier that way, easier to be a passive onlooker in my own life than to be actively grabbing life by its' horns and steering it the way I want it to.
There's no rhyme or reason to my emotions - no explanation other than a malfunction in neurological chemistry that's shaped me into becoming this strange sad jumbled mess of a young woman. Although that sounds like the description of a protagonist from a popular YA novel - and as much as I wish sometimes that I could escape real life through the fiction and media I consume, I know it's not possible. I'm not some girl crafted by John Green's vision, I'm not a bunch of words someone put to a page that people will read and imagine and sigh in longing for and then hope for a happily ever after. I'm just...me. Anissa. I'm real, made of flesh and blood, trying to subsist off of my own imagination, wildly inaccurate dreams that I'm just now realizing will never come true. No one will come sweep me off my feet, love and relationships and money and jobs and success and happiness are things that I've lived with just expecting to come to me some day. "Some day!" It's funny now when I think about it. I used to console myself with the idea that everything I wish I had would magically come find me in the future, would suddenly appear to me and that would make me happy. I was wrong, and I've only just figured this out within the last year or so.
Ignorance is definitely bliss; turning a blind eye to the real world with those outlandish fairytale dreams in my mind were the only thing keeping me going through my life so far. Yet it caused harm too - just now I've been dumped in the real world where people have to WORK for the things they want, where people need to be pushy and outgoing and confident with their "I don't give a fuck!" attitudes. And I've spent so much time retreating into my own shell that at this point, when I'm lost in life regarding what I want and how to go about getting it, I'm not even sure if I'll be able to change myself and the way I view myself for the better.
(Regardless, this has been an introductory post to my blog. I'll continue on this subject again in the future, adding more and clarifying things, probably going deeper into specific issues. I'm hoping that writing about myself in this truly open manner will help jumpstart other creative juices so that I can work on some original fiction ideas. Even if that doesn't happen, I write this in hopes that maybe by pouring out what's going on inside of me, I can potentially figure out and fix my own issues.)
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