"stop crying. its a new world. move on"

Occasionally I think back to that night. I remember the first words from the morning after popping up with a tiny notification.

HELLO.

Thanks, Adele. That once casual greeting has just become a cultural metaphor for relationships past, and in many ones, a relationship I had. Well. Who doesn't enjoy romanticizing history in the form of "could of," "has been" and "used to be?"

But as someone said to me, "Fuck nostalgia."

Actually the first time he said that, my brain froze. Partially because it was an unexpected statement coming from the poster boy of hipsterdom (the person I could turn to about vinyl facts, yellow-toned photography and identifying eras of music); mostly though - the shock was rooted in personal offense. Who doesn't love nostalgia? "Things were better back in xxxx" or "Remember when xxx." Thrift shopping. Throwbacks. #Flashbackfriday... All that has come full circle now though. He's right.

Nostalgia has been abused.

Why waste time on thinking about what used to be?

Fuck the clingy emotions that people bring to the table when talking about the past, especially about times before they were born. Fuck romanticizing history as if stagnated culture would've been preferred. Music, clothes, behaviors, art won't evolve through repetition.

Enjoy it for what it was.
Congratulate yourself for the experience.
Move on.



In some cases: Dip your toes back in the reflecting pool just to relive the sensation a little bit. Just make sure to take your feet out before they prune.

x

"if you had a blog, i would read it."

I had a blog. I used to write. I used to do many creative things like draw, play guitar, take staged photographs and create fictional worlds. I looked at the page views this blog has and the numbers are surprising for a journal with no direction. 100, 947 views since 2010. What if I had kept going? 

The strange thing now is... I'm not that sad or disheartened by the fact that those hobbies are of the past. It's become a meandering wish list that has no home. Five years ago, I wanted to write a book. Now the words I used to be a master of, the idea of empathy and the burning passion struggles to form.

My goals have become about fulfilling wanderlust. I want to travel. Owe nobody. Sometimes I want to cease existing (well, that's not new), but it's come to a point where all the thoughts I have are bubbling over. Conversations aren't enough to contain the process.

I'm twenty five and many things have strangely come full circle. It's a slow incline and I'm not sure what's waiting for me at the top. I think five years is enough time to start from the beginning again though. So many things have changed, enough that I hope apathy works in my favor... that all the eyes that used to watch me are now strangers.



2015 is coming to an end soon. I still don't know if I've gotten better at understanding myself at all, but I don't really care. I'm working on things and I can't be unhappy about all the experiences I've been gifted so far.

x