Sun

I've been thinking about my book, Sun, a lot recently and it occurred to me that this May it will have been three years since I started this endeavor.  In a way, it seems like a long time - nearly three years.  I started this book two days after I turned sixteen and already I am close to being nineteen.  And yet I don't think I ever dreamed at the beginning that I would have reached the point I have already.  I never thought that in less than three years I would be able to say that I had written 254 pages in this book - in any book, for that matter.  I never thought I would finish anything aside from short stories, and although I still have not yet, I am closer than I ever have been before.  Although I have been distracted from my writing at times, this is the first book I have ever spent so much time on and I intend to finish it at last some day.

Sometimes I wish so much to finish it; in fact, I wish that often.  But there is a paradox within me concerning this.  For though I desperately want to finish what I have worked on for so long, at the same time, it makes me incredibly sad to think of the day on which I no longer will be able to write in my book.  I also wonder what I shall do after it is done.  I suppose I shall find something else to write.  I will have to, I am certain.  For I don't think I would be able to live without writing something.  But I can imagine that even if I start another book, or even if I just begin concentrating more on another that I have already started, that I will feel terribly lost without my book to write in and my characters to write about.  It's what familiar to me and I know I will miss it.  But even still, I try as hard as I can to finish it as soon as possible, because it also drives me crazy that there is no end to my story yet.  But someday there will be.  I am sure of it.

Thoughts and Distractions

So I never knew until this week how tons of homework could actually make my life better.  At the beginning of the week, I was freaking out because I realized I had to read 229 pages, plus other homework and studying, and the rest of my life as well.  But what I realized is that reading can be a great distraction.  I was upset and stressed about some things this week and I sought distractions for myself.  My reading was just what I needed.  It was so good to not have to think, that by five PM today (Wednesday), I had already finished my reading for the week.  Now I'll have to think of other things to do, I guess.

But something else I also discovered was this: that although it is good to have some distractions from things that are bothering you, sometimes you have to think about them as well.  It's not a good idea to always dwell on the thoughts and situations that get you down, so distractions (such as reading) can be a good thing.  But eventually, you do have to think about it.  You have to face the problems in your life at some point or another.  Like I said, it doesn't mean you sit around moping about it all the time, but instead, you think about it enough to get yourself used to it so that you can begin to move on with your life.  I realized I was trying to think of activities to keep me so busy that I didn't have to think at all; then I realized that perhaps I should stop just every once in awhile and think - to stop and face what was bothering me so that someday perhaps it will bother me no longer.

The Curse of Emotion

I am deeply distressed in my heart as I cry out for answers I know I shall never attain and as I seek to ascribe meaning to situations for which there is none.  I am afflicted by my strong emotions by which I have been plagued from the very start, and also by recurring memories of my senseless actions that led to the pain now pervasive in my life.  Naught can cure this easily and although I do not doubt that the sadness brought on by these instances, which were in turn brought on by my grievous lack of discretion, which also in its turn stemmed from the very forceful, extreme emotions I earlier spoke ill of, will indeed fade at last on some day which will in my eyes be highly esteemed, it is blatantly apparent, indeed extremely perspicuous, that my sorrow shall not be brief nor shall it be easily alleviated.  I shall suffer for a time, and perhaps I deserve to, for there is none other to whom I might rightfully assign this blame.  It is despite extreme obviousness that I find it necessary to admit and confess to having abandoned my perspicacity, a trait which had served me well in years past.  For where my emotions become involved, or more accurately, entangled, as they seem to all the more often in every affair as time progresses, I sway to their powerful wishes and strive to assuage their always increasing desires.  What if I were to live by reason alone?  What if logic ruled my life and I forsook all emotion?  Would not my spirit be less afflicted and my heart find less pain?  Indeed, such would be so, but I could not completely rid myself of emotion, even if such a deed were in fact possible.  For by my emotions I find also pleasure and happiness, though at this precise moment neither is overtly present.  This sorrow is overwhelming and denies joy access into my heart, for these memories still overtake me at intervals too frequent for me to handle, plunging me into the sadness of what I have lost, though if I ever had anything from the start is still being debated in my mind, and leaving me in bitter tears.

Making Sense

Sometimes you realize that you have been trying to make sense of things that don’t make sense.  At times situations don’t seem to make sense, but you can figure them out in the end.  But sometimes things simply don’t make sense.  But because we have a tendency to try to figure things out (or at least those of us who are curious do), we search and search for the meaning of things, even when it doesn’t exist.  There are things in life that don’t make sense – sometimes people don’t make sense and sometimes the situations we find ourselves in don’t make any sense at all.  Yet we desperately want them to make sense and so we come up with different explanations and excuses that in the end just don’t cut it.  We try so hard to make sense out of stuff when there is no way that it can make sense.  We want it to make sense, because then we could feel better about it.  But sometimes it just can’t happen, and you can only go on so long fooling yourself into thinking that it’s not just the confusing, nonsensical mess that it looked like from the beginning.  Because in reality, that’s all it is.  There are times that we need to simply except the fact that we cannot understand everything; and we need to except the fact that other people, as well as ourselves, will not always make sense, and there is no way to figure it out and give it meaning.  Sometimes you get hurt and there is nothing you can do about it.  It doesn’t make sense and it never will. That’s just the way it is sometimes.