Reflection

I wrote this in 2005
I remembered it today:

Words seem so much more allusive when they are spoken quietly in the dark.
500 words a day.
No more.
How would you use them?
If this was the case, would we lie, whenever it seems convenient, like we do now?
I'm sure if the amount of breath we use for talking was limited, relationships would be more honest. We wouldn't say so many pointless things. We'd choose more carefully who we talk to, and think before we speak. Anything we say could be the last, it could be what we are remembered as. I'd rather be remembered for pretty words than bad habits.
Last words.
Let’s say you really love someone, but you just forgot to tell them, too busy wasting your breath on soon to be forgotten counterproductive phrases and stories, then they unexpectedly die, without ever knowing how much they mean to you. In that case wouldn't you wish you had said the right words? We all live, knowing one day will be the last. Yet we waste the little time we have whining and thinking it is too long, believing what they tell us to believe, closed minded, because that's how we were taught.The world needs an eye opener, a revelation.
Unfortunately we are cursed with unlimited speech.

--Reflections in 2008

Few things ordinary (and with this word I don’t mean to offend anyone it simply refers to people I have no deep connection with, people I have never had intricate conversations with, mere acquaintances, if that)
Ok that was a very long sentence to put into parentheses, so I will start over with this blog.
Hopefully I haven’t lost anyone’s attention.

AHEM

Few things ordinary people say hold my attention. In class discussions I frequently find myself dozing off because they generally seem to be lead by people who enjoy hearing themselves talk. My English 206 class is no different, they speak as I doze. Every now and then someone says something worth hearing, I listen. The rest are just words.
Today however, whilst discussing our short stories someone brought up the subject of self discovery which seemed to be a common theme in almost everyone’s story. I continue to half listen to the professor talk about how the twenty first century has shaped everyone to want to ascertain themselves in life, when a girl whom I have noticed to be quite interesting casually says: “We don’t have anything left to do except to find out who we are”
Then I wonder whether this is the purpose of life, ultimate self discovery. But how do you know what you have truly found yourself? And does that mean you are ready to die? I remember this day one year ago. I was walking around aimlessly through the cflourescent halls of SkyView high school. I didn’t even want to go to school that day, but it was better than staying home and watching Jason play video games and completely ignore the fact that I needed consolation. So I walked around for no other reason than to keep walking. I looked at all the faceless nobodies I had gone to school with over the past four years or so. None of them meant anything to me, and after graduation I would not see any of them again. I actually felt that way about my friends as well. It was amazing to meet to watch the progression of lives, when someone else’s just ended. All these idiots seemed to be okay with carrying on in their normal habits even though someone they know, or at least used to know had just died. At that moment I hated everyone. In my cynical nature happy people tend to fuel my anger when I am not in a good mood.
(I am selfish Kay, I know this. It will never change.)
What I realized while reflecting upon this relatively hazy memory was that none of us really know what we want out of life, the difference is that some of us walk around aimlessly, wasting time while others search for a purpose.
I’m still searching, and while I am I will keep writing.