Diary no.1 (7:42-8:51) (121616)

 

Well fuck. I was going to write this fucking diary series in Vietnamese but the font fucked my eyes way too hard for me to endure, so still stuck in English. Please, if anyone knows how to write in Vietnamese and have a smooth-looking font, help me!

Hi there. It’s been a while, 2 and a half week to be exact. Right after the last post One Bad Day Away, something amazing, something one may call magical happened to me.

red-pill-or-blue-pill

It gave me clarity on my doings. I knew what i wanted to do and how to do them. Then i was on fire, hustling through the day. Monday to Tuesday to Wednesday bla bla bla. I was so passionate, so innovative, so vibrant.

I was truly alive!

I was so full of self-awareness that future, past, present collided. Suddenly, like a dying man with his entire life flashing before his eyes, all the things that happened to me had a meaning. Each and every events are bricks, building my soul, shaping it with ups and downs. I could remember how intrigued I felt when I was 4 years old, in my uncle’s workshop, wondering if my head were cut open, would there be a hidden computer chip in that, controlling every emotions, thoughts of mine. Then I could see how in the far future, ten years, twenty years, I would be “preaching”, exchanging ideologies, universal truths, soul-searching kind of conversation. I have envisioned that before, like most people “thinking about success to be successful”, but this time it felt so real. Like I am there already.

I have new super-powers.

Walking around like a mofoking boss, grounded and confident, but no arrogant. But also I cried when I watch movies, I cried when I spoke from my heart, I cried listening to Kanye. I cried thinking about how fucked up others are and how lucky i am to be here and now. I felt like I was completed, I had jumped to the next level and things would keep getting better and better.

Then like Icarus, I flew to close to the sun. Got burnt. Finals came,  I stopped everything to focus on finishing it best I could.

The Passion runs out, the Love goes too. I did not do the best I could. Petty thoughts are sneaking up on me, with those sons of bitches come along low self-esteem, poor judgement, decrease in wit and the mental sharpness.

I’m quite apathetic and dirty (spiritually) now. I need emotional grooming.

I learnt a lesson. I’m not going to build some wings to fly to heaven; I’m building a fucking airport.

Stabilization. Momentum. Structure.

 

 

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