[Journal] 25 January 2014

I just returned from a radio recording and am pretty beat. I should’ve been asleep two and a half hours ago. The recording was a blast though; really enjoyed it.

These few days I’ve been involved in psychological studies. Through these studies I’ve realized how dissatisfied with my life I am. Thing is, I think I knew it in my mind for a long time now, but I’ve just never really given it much thought. These studies just brought these thoughts out onto pen and paper, and it really shows.

I know, people will tell me how I should be content with my life and all that. I agree. I really do. But there’s always the desire to be a better person from who you currently are, no? Being satisfied with your life is something difficult to attain, especially when we keep searching for that one thing we wish to get.

Outside, I may seem like just another carefree, laidback person. I probably am, somewhat, but I too, don’t find satisfaction in the life I lead. I want to change it.

There are so many things I can control or work on to improve myself, and that’s what I will keep doing this year and the many years to follow.

It’s just that sometimes, even the most trivial things can add up to your dissatisfaction. A lack of a personal bedroom, which gives rise to many things such as personal space, privacy and all those. Sure, I’ll keep holding it in. I’m not one to voice dissatisfaction to anyone, because I don’t like to create unnecessary conflict.

Then when you actually bottle so many other issues up, trivial matters piling on up to one another, you just get overwhelmed by unhappiness every once in a while. I suppose my cheerful facade is here to stay for a long time.

No one I can really reliably speak to of every single thing in my life. Not a single person. The pain of bottling everything up is hard to take, but if I’ve taken so much, I think I can continue holding it in.

When people tell you “I know you very well” they really don’t. They don’t unless you’ve interacted with them so much, and there’s so much trust that you spill all your secrets out. That is when you truly know someone well. Not just the person’s birthday, his/her favorite hangouts/people/food. Those are trivial as compared to matters of the heart.

Then we have family, the ones that raised us. The fear of hurting them completely shuts the possibility of saying anything. I’d say many things, but when I step back, I realize how each of these can potentially hurt them to the point of no return. I don’t want that. I fear for that to happen, so I’ll keep many things a secret.

They may not understand, but sometimes, I’d rather they not understand. Sometimes, I’d want them to understand that not knowing anything is probably a safer option, both for me and for them.

I’ll continue bottling things up until I can truly find that one being out there I can speak my troubles to. Until then, there’s really only myself.

…and I just ranted so much. Ah, the wonders of the night. It really makes you reflect upon yourself and give you the silence you need to focus your thoughts and spill them out isn’t it? Not like the hustle and bustle of life in the day.

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