Pink

 I remember when I abhorred the color pink. I remember the barbie dolls and their pink lips, pink dresses, pink shoes. The drawings of pink princesses on girl-themed bags. Pink hair accessories that were stored on a pink nightstand. 

The color pink plagued my life for years; and yet, never had I questioned its presence during those young years. 

I specifically recall one time when I received a glittery hot pink makeup case as a birthday present. I was around 11 years old at the time and had never shown any interest in makeup whatsoever. Although the presence of pink always felt threatening before, when I laid my eyes on the makeup case it ceased to be horrendous. Pink was from thereafter just a color. A color that I understood to be misused and abused. 

Adults use the color pink with a weak purpose. To instill femininity in us girls. But what they fail to realize is that this association of color to a specific gender, chain reacts into unconscious hate for femininity, societal roles, and gender expectations. When I was a kid, I did not want to be limited to a color. I did not want to be given pink makeup cases, pink hair accessories, and pink clothes. Because pink transcended color. It reached a deeper part of my mind and delivered a message-- one which as I made clear, was not very fond of. 

The worst part of this experience of mine was that, if memory doesn't fail me, the person who gifted me the pink case was a man. This ignoramus had come out of the dumb depths of stupidity and had gifted me something related to the simple fact of me being born female. This is why my hate for the color somewhat softened after the incident. I was to this man a stranger: he did not know me like I thought he did. Pink's offenses were not personal. There was no need to be angry about something out of my control. Needless to say, I was more disappointed than furious. 

However, as I grew I came to the conclusion my prolonged hate towards pink as a result of the patriarchy. It was common for girls to detest the color pink. So instead of disregarding it, I embraced it. Not as a symbol, but as a color. I had finally looked at pink as a color. I was no longer reluctant to embrace pink, to dress pink, to paint my nails pink, to decorate with pink. Playing with barbie dolls were long removed from my list of current activities, but I still came to piece with barbie's glittery fashion preferences. 

I had accepted pink into my life, and unbeknownst to me, accepted womanhood in the way as well. 

My worst entry yet [20201201]

 [My worst entry yet]

This message comes from a place of desolation. 

I, for the last few days, have been in a warped space and time. Things happen every day, but I have a hard time asserting their meaning. Work seems endless, and I often wonder why I do it in the first place. We are supposed to be ambitious, to endlessly work to achieve something. But if I have nothing to achieve, then how am I supposed to work? 

Last year what drove me was fear. I feared I would be worthless if I failed. After all, I had awaited for years to get where I was then. But now, fearless, I wonder if this is really where I want to be. Is this who I want to be? Forever confined to a certain limited array of jobs. In truth, I wish I could do what I love sporadically and live securely with the little I could have. 

In truth, I am being dramatic because I'm in no good position. My legs ache, they crave exercise. My brain is tired of procrastinating and doing at the same time. Sometimes you notice colleagues of yours doing the most and successfully achieving whatever they want to achieve. They have themselves figured out. They know what they want. But I don't. I don't know whether I am studying for interest or job material. Or both. Or neither. 

I'm just aiming at an apple on top of someone's head. But I never learned how to aim or use a bow and arrow in the first place! Or a gun! Maybe if I throw a stone... but I don't think it will go far enough to hit the apple. 

My teacher once told me writing shit can be healthy. I don't think I write well; and all I ever write is shit, really. I don't like to take myself seriously and frankly, I despise the idea of sitting down for more than a few hours to write words. Even when sketching I never had the patience. I like doing other things, however. 

For example, I've been thinking of taking a painting course... I never learned how to paint, and I think it'll be productive to learn. I would also love to work in small yet comforting jobs like a bakery, a peaceful bar, or a cafe. Just imagine the people you would meet daily! Plus you would have to work as a team, right? 

I have no experience in any of those jobs, yet I wish I could do something...different. Ever since I was 6 I've been studying. Learning things and writing them down. Thinking and rethinking. Nothing more. I just want to do something different... something dynamic. 

But those types of things... they're very hit or miss aren't they? What are the chances of living a stable life working those types of jobs and mediocrely painting now and then? I just don't think I'm made to work in closed rooms with the same people every day for the rest of my life. Every time I imagine a stable, non-moving lifestyle...Forever... Until I die... That's already death, isn't it? To just repeat what you have done the year prior. 

God, what am I saying? This year has been a rollercoaster, right? Tell you what, I've tried to be perfect when I was younger. I am still young, but I have realized that the Expectations I have for myself are too ambitious. I will content with just living now. Just aiming, although poorly, at the apple. 

We are told to always dream. That we can do it if only we believe in it. But the truth is harsh, and truth says it has more to do with luck than virtuousness and ambitiouness. 

With this ramble finished, I write here my imperfections: 

I cannot read well like others. If I don't enjoy the book, I cannot do it. I need time and academia doesn't give me enough! I also cannot write professionally. There are so many greater writers who are from the same age-group as me; and I truly feel I will never be as good as them.  I have other skills -- skills they don't have. But those aren't useful to the area of study, so I need not bring them to this text. Even with my other skills, I could always be better. I could always excel, but I have never been one to perfect my craft. 

At this point, I have no clue what exactly is my message. I guess I am just confused. 

I just want Christmas to come, and to worry about lesser things like my personal toy collection and journaling. Those are fun activities and they relax me. I just need a break that's it. I just want to have a couple of weeks to breathe and let go of worries. Not one day passes where I don't think about an essay I have to write or a topic I have to search for. Where I live academia isn't as demanding as others, but I would say it still is too much to hold on to for too long. The semesters are lengthy and towards the end, everyone just wants to go home and relax for a couple of days; to forget the stress. 

Oh well, it seems I have nothing else to write about. I do think my teacher was right. I wrote shit but now I am quite satisfied and content. I think I can go exercise now. Pump it up and gain energy. I hate sitting down for long periods of time. 

Goodbye. 

 Oh also, Happy Halloween! 

Where I live we don't actually celebrate Halloween, but it has always been fun thinking we do. I've had this tradition over the years, of playing Thriller by Michael Jackson during the week leading to Halloween. I would say it's my contribution to the holiday I never get to celebrate. This year I broke the tradition, but it wasn't because I stopped liking the song. I've just been so busy and out of place that I haven't had the time or spirit to keep up.

This year it seems everything is vacant. Maybe it's the global state everyone's in, or maybe it's just my mind playing tricks, or treats? 

I'm trying to be funny here as if anyone but myself will ever read these entries. 

I like to pretend though. And I'll do just that starting now. I want this to be an embarrassing future discovery, just like my ex-colleague's Blog was. 

I'm having fun. Writing. In school, during my free time in my diary... and now here. 

You see, if you're a native and you don't know any other language...Consider yourself lucky. You don't get confused with words that mean the same, or with writing and speaking expressions. As I'm writing this I am simultaneously realizing how fluent I've become over the years. But yet, I'm still lacking. I'm still learning. And you natives just stand there! And pull this out of your ass! I'm very jealous of you.

Again I enter confusing territory. My teachers tell me I should plan what I write. But writing trash freely is a lot more entertaining. Looking back to the past 10 minutes, I wonder what exactly I'm trying to say in these words. 

I guess I just wanted to remind myself Halloween is today, and wish the invisible ghost bots of the internet a spooky Halloween.

 I never knew I could work on a Blog like this before. 

I remember creating a Blog back in 2010. I debuted on Blogger with a post about my dog Santi, who is a senior now, and not a puppy as the original post may tell you. 

I have vague memories about all of this. 

TV series like to tell you every girl who likes to write has had a Blog at one point; but aren't Blogs out of style? Do people still write these? Or if they do, do they go to other sites? I just remember this being the shit 10 years ago! And now nobody mentions it.

Another time in my life where I came across a Blog was during high school. My colleagues and I had found another colleague's past Blog...It was pretty embarrassing. For her, the girl who had written the Blog and also forgotten about it. 

Is this post going to get exposure? Anywhere? At all? 

Hey if you're reading this just keep in mind I'm a young adult, bored out of mind, trying to escape responsibilities by venting in Blogger. 

Should I call this Blogger or just Blog? My knowledge about these terms is very limited. I didn't even know the site was called Blogger. I thought it was just Blog. 

Does this matter at all? I'm having another existential crisis: of blogs and networks; of internet presence and human worth. 

Hey, want to know the song I'm listening to at the moment? Research Chemicals by Viagra Boys. It's a cool song you should check it out. I'll leave the link below. I can do that, can I not?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U7gbFMWZWlo&t=357s