“for i am forever changing”

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Just reading back on my older blog posts is like... looking down at my younger self from above. Remembering those days and finding that I don't remember some or can't recall what on earth I seem to be writing about.

I've noticed that my blogging uh style has really really changed. Like.. significantly changed. I avoid emoticons now, for one. But I think it's just mainly the content. Nobody would be able to understand majority of what I post right now.

If I'm writing for myself, why do I post it online? I feel like this is how I can express what I don't or will not say in person. My inner thoughts, I suppose, which I'm not always proud of. Or things I'm embarrassed to say or find that I cannot. I think I post it here, in such a confusing way, so to disguise what I actually mean. But I somehow want people to decode it or something. To sort of understand me.

I feel I am truest here.
Which is sad, considering it's not a real interpersonal interaction.

I can't believe I've kept this for so long. I guess it's because this is the first time I've actually told anyone about it when I first started it, as opposed to other "secret" blogs that I've long abandoned. And thinking that I'm indirectly speaking to people about myself helps me to go on.

This is really important to me.

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No, I don't think I'm an eclipse.
I thought I was, perhaps.
An eclipse is not good enough for me.

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My God sustains me.

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Not everyone is forever.
I used to wish we could all be friends forever. And I always say that relationships are based and maintained on effort on both parts.

I have no more motivation. But I don't think it's because I'm lazy or anything. It's just.. there's no point.
Life goes on. People part.
It's a new chapter.

Dearest of friends
now no more. And it makes me sad I don't know. I haven't done anything about it. I don't see a point. I've accepted it.

If life pushes us together again, I'm sure we'd still be friends and close.
But perhaps not now?

I wonder, Which one of my friends, if any, are forever?

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There was once a man who had two sons. The younger said to his father, ‘Father, I want right now what’s coming to me.’

So the father divided the property between them. It wasn’t long before the younger son packed his bags and left for a distant country. There, undisciplined and dissipated, he wasted everything he had. After he had gone through all his money, there was a bad famine all through that country and he began to hurt. He signed on with a citizen there who assigned him to his fields to slop the pigs. He was so hungry he would have eaten the corncobs in the pig slop, but no one would give him any.

That brought him to his senses. He said, ‘All those farmhands working for my father sit down to three meals a day, and here I am starving to death. I’m going back to my father. I’ll say to him, Father, I’ve sinned against God, I’ve sinned before you; I don’t deserve to be called your son. Take me on as a hired hand.’ He got right up and went home to his father.

When he was still a long way off, his father saw him. His heart pounding, he ran out, embraced him, and kissed him. The son started his speech: ‘Father, I’ve sinned against God, I’ve sinned before you; I don’t deserve to be called your son ever again.’

But the father wasn’t listening. He was calling to the servants, ‘Quick. Bring a clean set of clothes and dress him. Put the family ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Then get a grain-fed heifer and roast it. We’re going to feast! We’re going to have a wonderful time! My son is here—given up for dead and now alive! Given up for lost and now found!’ And they began to have a wonderful time.All this time his older son was out in the field. When the day’s work was done he came in. As he approached the house, he heard the music and dancing. Calling over one of the houseboys, he asked what was going on. He told him, ‘Your brother came home. Your father has ordered a feast—barbecued beef!—because he has him home safe and sound.’

The older brother stalked off in an angry sulk and refused to join in. His father came out and tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen. The son said, ‘Look how many years I’ve stayed here serving you, never giving you one moment of grief, but have you ever thrown a party for me and my friends? Then this son of yours who has thrown away your money on whores shows up and you go all out with a feast!’

His father said, ‘Son, you don’t understand. You’re with me all the time, and everything that is mine is yours—but this is a wonderful time, and we had to celebrate. This brother of yours was dead, and he’s alive! He was lost, and he’s found!’

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Why wouldn't I read my favourite books over again? Why would I keep myself from the pleasure of experiencing that story again?

A lot Many people will ask me, Haven't you read it already?
Yes, yes I have.
Don't you know what happens already?
Yes, very well I do.

I've read a lot of books in my eighteen years. I remember hardly half. Hardly a quarter. I doubt even a eighth. Yet, I know that I enjoyed most of what I have read.

I had a phase where I wanted to be considered very well-read. I read a lot of well-known classics just to say that I've read them. Right now, I hardly remember what they're about.

If you don't remember what you've read, there is no glory in saying you've read it.
What's it about?
I don't know, but it was good.

I love Harry Potter.
I know what it's about.

I can't help but read and reread because I never want to come to that moment where I say I forget what happens.

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Did I know you were to come into my life and change me?
Just seeing your name on a page, just another name, just another nameless person.
Did I know? No, I did not. I did not know you!

Your name, it was nothing to me before.

It's different now.
Your name, it is love.

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