The small Indian man in all of us

L'hotel Dauphin - Japan branch

pulpy orange paper

10.22.08

Today was the first day I've felt relaxed in awhile, not that I've been particularly busy. Just that I felt ok. I've been in a sort of existential cocoon. Predicting what's to come has so overwhelmed me with an anxiety about who I am and what I am capable of. All the stress amounted to nothing. Didn't accomplish anything. Actually, it was more a path to self-destruction, which I know, through experience, becomes a vicious cycle. What I've realized is that I really don't have a clue.

Hold on

Few things are constant, particularly when it comes to people. You may find yourself doubting that a person you know is the same person as before. Not just because they've changed, but as if that person in the past whom you have shared memories with no longer exists here and now, even though you may see them, even though you may talk to them. I personally hate how this happens, which may be why I try to hold on to the past so much. Yet why it is so easy to forget? Perhaps, answering my own question, the knowledge is no longer applicable, if the past is no longer a truth.

I spend the greater part of everyday dreaming about my past, things that people have said, places I've gone. Even so, if this is unnatural, sometimes I probe more repressed memories, some that I must have stowed away in the attic, never expecting to dig them up again. How different was I back then? Some parts I can't even believe were me.