Voynich Manuscript

As I’ve said before, I’m in love with the mysteries of the world. I might actually make this blog about that very topic.

Today I was thinking I would talk about the Voynich Manuscript. I’m so fascinated with it. I think it would be amazing to see it in person.

For those who don’t know, the Voynich Manuscript is a mysterious script, I believe to have originally ‘discovered’ in the thirteenth century. It’s a large book containing a language that is seemingly unknown to man, as well as paintings and depictions of creatures and plants that have never been known to exist. Some believe it to be written in an encoded version of Latin, though even the world’s smartest minds cannot figure it out.

The pictures of plants and creatures that don’t exist and an unknown language are what draws me to this one. I believe in aliens, although I think they are human, just like us. However, they might speak a different or even advanced form of Latin. I’m just throwing theories out here.

Hypotheses range from aliens to unknown and lost civilizations and even the thought or idea of someone with severe psychosis writing and drawing out their hallucinations.

As I’ve said, I think it would it would incredible to see in person. I’m one of those people that loves to dream about the possibility of being the one that solves it. Linguists have looked at through magnifying glass for years, looking for possible discrepancies within the writing. One can potentially and theoretically make something unreadable if they stretch the character or letter that they’re writing to exactly twice or third times the original length. It’s possible that the author could have rearranged letters and words to make it difficult to read.

Now, what do I think about it, personally? I think it is something valuable, and I do believe it can be solved. I believe that it could very well be a large link or even a missing piece of our distant past that we have tried so incredibly hard to put together. I also think it’s possible that some type of ‘alien’ that was very early on earth could have written about their own planet, but could have died later before being able to properly communicate. That idea fascinates me the most.

I’d also like to believe that I could potentially solve it. But perhaps I’m just an overly-ambitious person.

Now…what do you think it is?

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Dinosaurs

It wasn’t too long ago that I caught a glimpse of something that captured my eye: humans remains have been found in the same sedimentary layer of rock as dinosaur remains. This suggests that dinosaurs and humans quite possibly walked the earth at the same time.

I didn’t read the article at the time, but I wish I had, just to have more information. Though I don’t think the article would have been very long; maybe a few paragraphs at most. Regardless of whether this information is actually true, I believe the sentiment. I always found it hard to believe that humans and dinosaurs walked the earth at different times. Part of it is my religious beliefs while another part is just my reasoning. How is it possible that we could have such a history of humanity and so much mystery surrounding our deep past if we didn’t live that long ago? Personally, I am in love with unsolved mysteries, and the fact that this one involves dinosaurs is just even better.

I’ve been fascinated by dinosaurs since I was very little. They always placed so many questions in my mind. Why were they here? Have they been on other habitable planets? Were they more advanced than we can imagine? Why do we know so little about them?

I’ve been searching for a book of some sorts that’ll really delve into dinosaurs and their existence, but it’s difficult to anything other than children’s books. Maybe I’ll end up writing the book instead of finding it. Call me crazy, but I don’t plan to die around one hundred years of age. I have a unique set of beliefs, and one of those (laugh if you’d like) is that I’ll live to be well over several hundred years old. I see it as entirely possible, as we have done it in the past. Why not now?

As part of that long life, I won’t be an entertainer forever. I’d like to venture into medicine, animation, video game creation…but the three I’m most interested in are Archeology, Paleontology, and Astronomy. Space fascinates me, and so do the way fossils tell us of our past we don’t remember. I love the Tomb Raider video games and (within reason) would love to be a real-life Lara Croft. Haha, but perhaps that is one thing that doesn’t exist. All I know for sure is that there are a lot of mysteries in this world, and I have a fascination and a very stubborn personality. It would be dream come true to see one of them in person.

Stream of Consciousness

Throughout my life, I’ve never really had anyone listen to me, or what I had to say. I naturally have a very quiet voice, and it can get frustrating when people talk over me. That’s part of why I avoid social situations, other than the fact that I have social anxiety to the extreme. I avoid social situations because I’m tired of being talked over, uncared about, and not really noticed. I’m one of those people that fades to the background, where no one really knows that I’m there. I’m the person that somebody talks to when they have no one else to talk to, and even then, the only talk for thirty seconds.

All my life – as I said – I’ve never been listened to. I was a mute for the longest time as a child. Many things happened to make me a mute, but I’d rather not talk about that today. What I want to talk about is how hard it is to not have your voice heard. Here, on this blog, I’d like to believe that my voice is being heard by writing this. I’d like to believe that my voice will be heard someday when I’m a singer and songwriter. I’d like to believe that my voice is something that has value and something that someone will actually care about. It’s not like anyone is bound to stop and listen to me if I speak, anyway.

My brother has always had a very loud voice, and with mine being naturally quiet, almost like a whisper, I used to have to shout to speak over him. Then I just gave up. Why speak when nobody could hear me anyway? But I’ve noticed lately how painful it is to not have a voice. It’s painful when I cannot express what I want to, and even if I try, no one will listen. It’s almost as if, while I’m speaking, the people around me put their hand to their ear and say, ‘did you hear that? It’s almost like I heard a voice’. It doesn’t help that I’m freakishly short.

I don’t really have any magic answer or reason or anything as to how to gain a voice when you don’t have one. Movies and TV would like us to believe that it’s as simple as just speaking up when nobody else will, and then we end up with our crush and live happily ever after.

Wrong.

It’s difficult. Most of the time, others are too busy with their own lives and their own trivial things to even think about the fact that you’re trying to speak to them, or that you have pain inside you, or that you are trying so hard to change and you have already tried so hard to matter to someone and nothing has worked. That’s how I felt as a teenager. Thankfully the pain isn’t as strong now as it was then, but I still live with pain that I don’t have a voice.

I wish that I could speak up and somebody would turn to me, smile, and pay attention to me. Should I go stand on a stage and shout how I feel? No. Nobody cares. Should I go on YouTube and put an opinion out there that’ll be criticized and I’ll be forever bullied for it? I’d rather not.

Maybe it’s also a fear of the reaction I’ll get. All I know is that I find myself with jumbled up thoughts and don’t always know what I feel until I write it. And now I do know what I feel. I want a voice, and I want it to matter.

It will. Someday.

Entertainer

So, I’ve noticed that I’ve been writing three blog posts a day. When did that happen? *nervous smile*

No, it’s really not a bad thing, I’m actually kind of excited. I know a lot of bloggers write once a day or certain days in the week, but I just have found a genuine love for blogging. I have loved writing for years, and now blogging is a lot of fun. I have the potential to make money at this, and if I do make money doing this, it would be incredible! I think the first thing I would do with earned money is buy another album from Fall Out Boy on iTunes and then put the rest in savings. ‘ Cause I’m cool like that.

Anyway, I discovered this morning that I am breathing a lot better, and the fires that have broken out around my area are becoming more and more contained. So happy about that.

I tend to not know what I’m going to write about when I start a new post like this, but for some reason, once I get writing, the words flow. I’m so grateful that when I’m rambling about different things I’ve noticed or musings of life, I don’t get writer’s block all that much.

So, the topic for this post: songwriting.

I’ve never thought I was a good songwriter, but for some reason, I just keep coming up with lyrics and melodies that make no sense to me and definitely no sense to anybody else. But I would like to think that someday it’ll make enough sense. I want to be a performer, an entertainer. It’s something I truly love.

But I’ve struggled, as every entertainer does. But not with the audience, which is typical. I struggle with myself.

I have had much injury to my brain throughout my life and since I live with the oxygen saturation in y blood lower than the normal range because of the nature of my heart condition, it has caused some brain damage over the years. I often have trouble processing things in a cohesive way, I have terrible memory. But I’ve noticed it mostly in my hands. I love any type of art or craft so it’s hard when my hands refuse to communicate with my brain. My handwriting is unreadable although I prefer to write by hand rather than type. Also, I love to crochet but sometimes my hands just won’t let the crochet hook and the yarn do their thing. Sometimes it looks more like a tangled mess than a scarf.

But I haven’t given up.

By far the most difficult is trying to learn to play the guitar, ukulele, and ocarina. Three instruments I have and I intend to get more.

For the longest time, I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t switch chords or even get to chords on my guitar like some beginner guitarist would. I struggle with rhythm. But I have tried since having my first guitar anonymously given to me in 2011 at Christmas. I look up to Taylor Swift as a guitarist, and it was from her online website at the time, with her name and a 13 on the head.

But despite my setbacks I’m learning musical instruments, I now know that I’m not just stupid – I have a real reason why I’m not learning these things. I thrive when I teach myself, so I will continue to work on chords and strumming, as well as just freely playing and not caring which notes I hit, (my favorite).

All I know is that someday I’m going to be an entertainer and maybe it’ll help someone like I am right now to know that I struggled with learning because of brain injury, but I got there. At least, that’s what I’d like to believe.

Core

Some things are complicated while others take no time to understand. I would like to monetize this blog sometime, and hopefully soon. But I wonder if anyone would come. I’ve found that the greatest asset I have on my hands is my honesty/transparency. I am very easy to read by those who know me, and I’m not always fond of this. But I’m a Taurus, I’m the bull by nature. Sometimes when others read me like an open book, they really are only reading that top layer. I have many layers to my being, state, soul, and personality. Yet people think they know me so well. This makes me smile.

So, I write here, trying my best to be honest and transparent all while it’s incredibly difficult to let anybody see past that top layer. I see it almost as the sedimentary rock in the earth. The sign of the Bull is an earth sign, strong and steady. I find myself fitting the Taurus personality beyond what I ever thought was possible. People rely on me. They tell me I am steady and immovable. But it seems that they miss the core.

I don’t blame them. I hide my core like the most precious metal there ever was. To be honest, I don’t think anyone in my life has ever seen that core. I often find myself wondering if it’s possible to see the core of a person, even within close and intimate relationships. It is it really possible to see everything a person is if they open up to you? Or is there still a small part of them that remains invisible to the eyes of anyone but them?

I don’t know. What I do know is that I love to ponder these things everyday. It’s these things that lead me to write fictional stories, exploring humanity and who we really are.

I fully intend to be an author someday soon; a published author. I have countless papers littering my room filled with story ideas and the same fills the Scrivener files of my desktop computer. I love to explore humanity and its darkness, along with its light.

I suppose there is always going to be more to discover in this world. Never will we reach the end of knowledge.

As someone who loves to learn, that makes me very happy.

Hard To Understand

I’m a writer. Obviously. I love to write. But sometimes when I write – like I’m writing poetry or song lyrics – the first sentence that comes to my mind more often than not is this: I don’t understand. Maybe it’s because of writer’s block, or maybe it’s because I genuinely don’t understand this world most of the time. I do not understand the human desire to hurt one another. In fact, I don’t understand cruelty at all. It’s a foreign concept.

Another thing I don’t understand is the way some people live. I’m a very straightforward and practical person; if I don’t have money to buy something then I don’t need that thing. Yet people around me buy the latest technology and then complain about being ‘poor’. It’s something that irritates me because I have seen the ugly side of poverty right now. Right now, my family and I don’t have a car, and even if we did, we can’t drive because my mom is too sick and I don’t have a license or the money to even consider one. All of the toilets in our house don’t work properly and I’ve gotten accustomed to the way our ancient washing machine sounds like an airplane taking off when we do laundry…but I’m happy. I’m happy writing songs and poems and this blog and crocheting blankets and other things for charity. I’m happy with my two cats who give me all the love in the world. I don’t have an iPhone. I never have. I can’t imagine using internet outside of my house!

Despite not being able to understand it, though, I love the world. I feel rich in love and happiness, even though I’m not rich in money or health. I don’t have a lot of family, but I love the ones I do have.

I suppose it’s a complicated world. Maybe that’s why I avoid it. I’d much rather just stay in my room, keep to myself and crochet things for those in need. That way, I know that I’m helping someone else, and even though it’s not much, it’s something I can do, and I’m grateful for that.

This World

I hate it when I can’t sleep, because that is when my mind gets creative. That’s when I start to think of how many crocheted dish cloths I would have to sell in order to become a millionaire. I’m not kidding.

We live in a society where we have so much that we can do. We have TV, Internet, video games, shopping…etc, etc. Yet, we sit around bored all day because none of it interests us anymore. None of it is new anymore.

I remember being a kid, and everything was a new and fascinating experience. I often wonder where that involvement went between the world and our minds. We don’t stop to look at flowers because we assume we already know exactly what they look like, but could we honestly just grab a pencil and piece of paper and render a perfect primrose flower on that paper with zero mistakes. Odds are, we can’t. This is because the world as we perceive it is not the world that actually is. It’s not nearly as boring and old as we think. In fact, it’s not boring and old at all. Yet, we see it that way. This is where I think we need to start putting our iPads and iPhones down and observe the world around us. Technology is a tool, not something to rely on completely.

So, perhaps as I can’t sleep and don’t feel good while I’m sick, I can take a pencil and a blank sheet of paper….who knows what will happen when we look around us and draw one random thing as realistically as possible? In my personal opinion, we will find that it isn’t that boring at all. In fact, it’s as beautiful as the starry night above us or flowers in a field of green grass.

We just have to choose to see it.

I’m Sick

There have been many blogs that I’ve heard about detailing the struggles of the person who writes the blog, or the details of a the struggle of a loved one. I’ve struggled much in my life medically, so I decided I would speak of my health here in my blog. I’ve always wanted to share my story with others, so what better place than here?

Well, I was born with a serious malformation in my heart, in which I only have the two left chambers of my heart and I’m missing the two right chambers. I literally have half of a heart, and that’s difficult for some people to understand. It’s hard when people say, ‘well, how are you still alive, then?’ I don’t know. Your guess is as good as mine. The children that are born with my heart condition don’t live very long, and very rarely do they grow up. Very rarely. In fact, there is only one other person in the world that I know of with my condition that grew up and lived an adult life with a wife and children. It’s also an extremely rare condition. It’s called a Hypo-Plastic Right Heart, with Pulmonary Atresia, if you’d like to read up about it.

I remember several years ago, Taylor Swift (one of my idols) wrote a song about a little boy named Ronan who died of cancer at four years old. She performed it once at an event that raised money for cancer research. I don’t have cancer, therefore it is much harder for people to understand my condition, and like I said earlier – my best guess as to why I’m alive is that God wants me here, and that I’m here for a reason. What is that reason? I’m slowly discovering it day-by-day, and I think I discovered a little bit more of it last night and today.

There are eight large wildfires that plague the State that I live in in the USA right now. Because of the nature of my condition and asthma, I don’t do well with wild fires or forest fires. One of the fires went from 500 acres to 17,000 acres overnight. To me, that’s terrifying. It’s a record for fires in 2018 in my State. So, yesterday, I was taken to the hospital an hour away (because that is the only hospital that knows how to treat my condition) by ambulance because I couldn’t breathe, and breathing was getting harder and harder. Smoke fills my lungs with fluid, and the more fluid I gain, the closer I get to pneumonia and other things that I’d rather not think about. When I was a kid, my mom would play games with me to get me to cough up the fluid in my lungs so that I wouldn’t have to stay at the hospital. We’d get plastic drinking straws and she’d crumple up a piece of paper and we’d blow it across the tabletop with the straws. It was fun, and I coughed up the fluid and healed from the damage of the smoke around me.

So, last night. I was in the resuscitation bay for over ten hours. That’s nothing to be alarmed about because they didn’t need to resuscitate me; they only had me there because that’s where the ambulance drops off. Anyway, I was there for ten hours because not only is my underlying condition (Hypo-Plasty, as they call it for short) incredibly complicated, but I’m allergic to every asthma medication out there. They had to make a decision, and while they did, I became increasingly nervous. I began to cry and for some reason I couldn’t put my finger on the cause for my tears. Only today did it come to light.

Being sent home at four in the morning with a prescription of a third of a dose of something I’m very allergic to in order to help clear my lungs and hoping the allergy isn’t going to send my heart into a deadly rhythm was something I didn’t take lightly. They need to clear my lungs…but they can only use medication that I’m allergic to. There are two very stark options: clear my lungs with medication and risk my heart going into a deadly rhythm that they may or may not be able to stop before I go into a heart attack, or let the fluid stay in my lungs and it’ll only get worse. And before you consider the doctors terrible, believe me when I say that these decisions are never made lightly. That’s why I was in the Emergency Department for ten hours, minimum, took two hours to discharge from the hospital, and then another two hours to get home and go to bed.

But here’s what I realized today: I have had a wonderful last several years where I will go to the ER and they will happily tell me nothing is wrong and I will happily go home and forget about it. But growing up was not the case. There have been times where I have been brought up to the hospital into the ER, and I’ve had a heart attack – something they call Code Blue or ‘arresting’, as in ‘Cardiac Arrest’ – right there in the room upon arrival. I’ve done it more than once. It’s sounds crude, but there’s been times where I’ve nearly drowned in the fluid in my lungs as a child because nurses and doctors and cardiologists sometimes can’t line up and figure out what to do. It’s complicated as I said. But what I realized is that I’ve had a wonderful ten or so years where nothing has seriously gone wrong, but now that I’m twenty-three…I know that for the rest of my life, these horrible things are going to happen again. I’m going to hemorrhage and bleed out my blood volume again at some point just as I did multiple times as a toddler and infant. I’m going to have other heart attacks; I’m going to have countless ambulance rides, and I’m going to have many other terrible things waiting for me. But it’s not something I fear. Why? Because I know that if I survived for this long when the maximum survival for babies like me when I was born was eight days, I’m here for a reason. I know that God is on my side, and I prayed to Him desperately last night in the ER, telling Him and begging Him to provide a way that they could figure out what to do and reach a decision, even if that decision is not a good one.

So, I stay here and write and listen to Taylor Swift and cough up the fluid as I sing her album Reputation at the top of my lungs. That’s what I’ve been prescribed to do countless times. Sing, sing, sing. The more you sing, the more air you move. The more air you move, the more you get out of your lungs and the better you become, and you heal. It’s not as cut and dry as TV would like you to believe it is.

But I don’t want this post to be completely doom and gloom. I’ve decided that whenever I meet Taylor Swift (because I’m determined to) I’m going to tell her that I got better while singing to her music. I’m going to tell her that I walked on the treadmill when I was nineteen and pulled myself out of congestive heart failure (CHF) while listening to 1989. I’m going to tell her that when I go into the Operating Room for surgery that I’ve listened to Love Story countless times as I fall asleep. And I’m going to tell her that she’s saved my life more than once, and in more than one way. Yes, I’m going to make sure she knows that.

So, as much doom and gloom as I’m going to see, it’s going to be nothing to the happiness and the hope that I can provide for others as I discuss my health and show how I survived something that is considered impossible to survive. That’s just the way I work. And I would never want it any other way.

Be Grateful For What You Have

It has not been easy with so many fires in the State where I live in right now. I swear that 50% of the State is on fire right now. Seriously. And having underdeveloped lungs, breathing issues, and asthma…it’s a bit of a challenge. Throw a heart condition on top and it’s really not a happy scenario. So, I’ve been staying inside (obviously) with oxygen on, writing and crocheting, and getting stuff ready to start a little business on eBay on September 1st. At least, I’m hoping that I can have it all ready by then. Here’s to crossed fingers!

Anyway, I think I’m beginning to find that all of my writing on here is more stream of consciousness than anything else because I’m better at just writing what’s on my mind than having some grand point or something. I dunno.

It’s funny how our minds work though, I’ve discovered. I was pretty brutally bullied earlier this year on social media, and now I begin to wonder if I made it all up. I’m one of those people who (I hate to say it) is easily manipulated into hating themselves. It’s just a part of me that I wish I could get rid of but I can’t. I’ve been bullied all my life, and I suppose that I wonder if the bullying is actually real because I’m so used to it. I’m so used to being called names and being told that I should die or that I will die (because with my condition, there’s no medical explanation as to how I’m alive right now). I’m used to being shoved to the side and being told I’m worthless. But I didn’t come here to talk about my bullied life. I came here to talk more about how it has affected me (stream of consciousness-like).

I’ve found that whenever somebody is nice to me or gives what I know that I deserve, I immediately reject it. I’m so used to putting myself last and everyone else I know before me. Even if I’m not particularly fond of that person. I’m used to putting everyone in front of me, and prioritizing them before myself, so when somebody gives me what I deserve, I quite honestly don’t know how to react. My first instinct is to run like I’ve just been presented with the plague, to be absolutely truthful. I’m not sure why that is. I suppose I feel I don’t deserve it. But there is something that I’m really trying to learn: I do deserve it.

I’ve lived a very impoverished life. We got a kitchen table last year for Christmas, and it was the first time I ate a meal on a table in my own home in fifteen years! It was so fantastic that I found myself jumping for joy. Then I look at my friends, and it can be difficult because they are complaining about what they want or how something isn’t good enough and they have smartphones and they have everything they could ever want and I’m over here like, ‘Hey! Look at my kitchen table!’ That usually goes right over their heads though.

I’ve stopped talking to a lot of people, not because I’m shallow or believe that I’m better than them because I don’t complain about not having things and I have never been happier to buy my own rice cooker when I was twenty-one, but because I just don’t like the noise. I have a flip phone that I can hardly text on, and I love it. It doesn’t have Internet or emails or anything like that, but I can text and call and that’s exactly what I need a phone for. That’s what phones were supposed to be for in the beginning. Communication. Now they’ve become little computers in our pockets and despite being a Millennial, I can’t help but find myself increasingly irritated with the growing generation of technology.

But what bothers me the most? Ungrateful people. It’s none of my business, and I know I should just look the other way, but quite frankly, it’s very hard to look the other way when I haven’t been to the eye doctor in over five years and I’m getting new glasses and can hardly see with the ones I currently have while others are paying for Lasik surgery (not that there’s anything wrong with that; I’d love it), and others are able to pick from five different set of glasses and contacts. That is a foreign concept to me. Absolutely foreign. I didn’t even know that somebody could have more than one pair of glasses until I was well into my adult years. I’m absolutely honest about that.

To me, it’s the demand and the expectation. I remember living in this little home when I was eight and nine years old that we would later come to call The Submarine because it was so tiny. I’m not even five feet tall and I could stand in the center of the room and touch all of the walls without moving. We had a gas stove, no dishwasher, no heating or AC, and no garbage disposal. I remember when someone was kind enough to build us a home and allow us to live in it for a small down-payment. I will never lose that gratitude. I remember the first day at nine years old, sitting on the carpet in the living room and staring out the windows at the blue sky. I was so filled with peace. I couldn’t believe that a room could look so bright and so full of hope.

Later, when I was at a youth activity (years later), some girls were stomping on a broken sign that bore the name of the man that gave me and my family a home, thinking it was hilarious. I was beyond angry, and being taught to always speak up for how I feel, I walked right over to those girls and scolded them for what they were doing. I remember saying something to the effect of “Look, I understand that he may not be that great to you. I understand that you or your parents might not like that man, but that man gave me a home, he saved my life. Because of that man whose name you are stomping on, I am alive and I am able to live without being homeless, so you’d better watch whose name your stomping on because you never know what they do for others that you don’t see.”

I left the girls with their jaws dropped, too shocked to even have some kind of a retort. I’m not one to take something like that lying down. And maybe it’s not my place to get after someone like that for lack of education, or, as I call it – ignorance. But, I am what I am. And I will stay that way, because I’ve seen the ugly side of the world, and boy am I grateful to that sun continues to rise everyday because, if it didn’t, I don’t know what I’d do. If the sun no longer rose, I might just give up, knowing there was no light, and without light, no hope. I thrive on hope. Perhaps my name should have been ‘hope’,

So, whether we have smartphones and smart vehicles, or we have flip phones and a Kia Rio that can hardly make it ten feet, I think we should be incredibly grateful for what we have. You never know when it’s going to be taken right out from under you.

Long Time, No See

Wow. It has been a while. Heh.

I’m sorry if this post is sort of jumbled up, I consider this a stream-of-consciousness post. Just wanted to warn you in advance.

A lot of things have happened to me in the last year and a lot of things have happened to those that I love. Incredibly difficult changes have been made, miracles have been witnessed and spoken about, and I never knew that my spirit could remain unbroken through my deepest fears. As I’ve discovered my deepest innermost fear upon listening to a podcast featuring Tony Robbins (I love that man) from 2017, I’ve understood my limits. I’ve learned that these limits do not define me, they do not change me, and they certainly do not cage me.

I always felt held in a corral by these ‘limits’ I imagined in my head. I always thought that something was holding me back; something I couldn’t see  and therefore couldn’t fight. But as I discovered that deepest fear, and I immediately formed a plan of action. Now that I know how to not let that deepest fear happen in reality, I feel fearless. I feel like the shackles that I’ve always felt around my wrists are finally nonexistent, and possibly weren’t even there in the first place. It’s funny how society loves to convince its inhabitants are incapable of anything seconds after the moment they say ‘believe in yourself’. Such things like that gave me much pause, and reason to consider what I was doing. I looked at my life. I’m twenty-three. Do I want to be a writer? Do I even like writing?

I struggled with my identity, far more than just my writing and whether or not I liked it. Since then I have determined that I truly do love writing, and I’m grateful to have this skill that have, given to me by God. I truly know that I am skilled at writing, although that may sound vain or self-centered. The sad thing is: the second we don’t believe in ourselves, we are considered to be self-loathing. The second we love ourselves, we are considered narcissistic and vain. Anything in the middle just simply doesn’t exist.

Perhaps I always knew this, or perhaps it was something I’ve learned along the way. But I do know this: it doesn’t matter what society says. For the first time in my life, I have decided that society or the people around me have absolutely no say in what I feel about myself, how I love myself, and what I know that I deserve that I am completely aware they will tell me I don’t.

Furthermore, I have discovered that politics really is just a game of High School debate club, but on a much larger scale. Just as in Drama class, if you’re shaking and can’t get out your lines, you will be taken off the stage. This happens in politics. If someone is so angry they are shouting and trembling with rage, they have no reason or place to be on that podium. I have seen terrible things, and quite frankly, I think that the world is now scarier than it’s ever been, simply because people are making threats left and right, and no one is doing anything about it. Perhaps we’re tired. Or maybe we just don’t care anymore.

My generation, the generation of the Millennials; we fear this world. We know that there is so much we can’t do, and as I watch the generation that has come after me, the children younger than me taking drastic actions such as harming themselves and leaving permanently, I am devastated. It makes me wonder what kind of world our parents and grandparents have left us.

As I said, this is stream-of-consciousness. Please take everything I say in here with a grain of salt. It’s nothing but water that slides off the duck’s back. *QUACK*