what i've been up to lately

 Legitimately. Quite literally. Most definitely. I’m absolutely, thoroughly, cooked. 

I haven’t drank water in over five hours. I haven’t slept more than three. I am so utterly, completely, cooked, seared, boiled, stir-fried, fried, sautee’d, and medium rare. Well done. 

I loved someone. They were someone whom i could ground on, whom i could go to with all of my many flaws and shortcomings, and they’d keep on comforting me. But, as everything starts, everything also ends. And then it’s over, for real. 

Everybody wants something from everybody else, whether it’s someone looking for a pet for emotional needs or a mutually beneficial friendship where venting is welcome, everyone is looking for something. That’s humanity for you: to learn from past ordeals–it’s how they survived the winters and learned off of their past experiences. 

Here’s the thing: I’m not a particularly loving being. I’m selfish. I lack many things, and I have friends to compensate for that. I love them for being themselves, I’d love to say. I’d die to believe that. But it seems that I can’t delude myself enough to believe that.

Here's a great controversial example! I love people who believe in religion. I have nothing against them. Whether it’s a face in the sky, staring at them as they make your every move, or belief in spiritual relief when one ceases to live, I want to believe them; I wanna have something, someone, that I could believe in indefinitely, just like them. I admire them to the ends of the earth and back, their unwavering devoutness, their sheer ability to put their faith into something so abstract. 

I don’t have that. I am too grounded on the earth, my head is too closed, and I can’t believe what I can’t prove. 

Can selfishness be a moral philosophy? Can what I just said even be attributed to selfishness? Can we even label thought? Can we label anything? 

---

Recently,

Around once every two months, I go through one full periodic cycle. No, not biologically (well maybe biologically), but mentally: All is good until I do something wrong. 

What I did can be valued in degrees of severity; it could be anything, I could have done so little as to get a bad grade, or a lot as to trespass on private property. I then start to dislike my view of myself–what I did becomes a statement of who I am as a person, flawed and imperfect.

Other people depend on me as a human. If i’m unable to help myself at a given time, I am unable to help them. At this point, other people start to hate me*.

Here comes the reconciliation…

Let’s plot this as a simple -sin(x) graph. Unlike a regular sin(x) graph, a -sin(x) goes to its minimum before it goes back to the minimum. 

I start at the origin of a cartesian xy-plane. 

The severity of my mistake would be the amplitude* of this sin graph, how far the maximum/minimum is from where I started. 

..you know what? I got an interactive graph for you. Simple. haha

knock yourself out! good luck.

Im so cooked bro

When I was growing up--wait, literally just yesterday, my parents said that going to a good college was the foundation for everything else: undergrad MATTERS. Everything. word-for-word. 

Yeah, you know, it sounds good and all, but do you also know what it sounds like?

It sounds like THEY'RE TRYING TO GET RID OF US! ONCE AND FOR ALL, AND TO NEVER COME BACK! 

Guys, they're starting to get tired of us SOUND THE ALARMS they're onto us fr. They know who we are. 

Sometimes It's Better to Not Have Feelings

Feelings are what makes us inherently human. It's what differs us from the likes of Artificial Intelligence, an anomaly that makes us as imperfect as we are. 

But as I wield it, I can't help but to think how useless it is to actually have feelings. Were they initially brought upon us with the desire that, in our caveman days, we would strive to reproduce? Yeah, sure. We couldn't survive without it, but as society's grown, I can't help but feel like it's a drawback--a "nerf"--of what we could actually be. 

It's something we don't yet understand. It's so foreign, concentrated so in the depths of our heads, that we can't possibly measure it in quantitative values. We can only measure what it does to us, and it's so scary that there's an unmeasured force in our heads that we are constantly getting ourselves into troubles of the many. 

Why can't I just do what I say? Why can't I just feel what I need to feel? If feelings are what makes us human, does it mean that we differ from inanimate objects just because we have a biased sense of judgement at all times? Is that the true meaning of living, to differ from in-sentiency--to strive and learn (and inherit prejudice) from our surroundings? 

I eerily sound like Ayn Rand. I should freshen up my knowledge on her philosophy (the only thing I remember was Roark being attractive to my younger counterpart! Don't blame me--read the first few pages of The Fountainhead and you'll see for yourself :sob:)