So I’ve cleaned out this mess of a blog. I’ve read back all of my posts, and decided that they should be set to private, lest someone stumbles upon one of them and throws up in their mouth. Actually I just wanted to hide my shameshames. I pretty much died realizing how superficial, ignorant and downright scarily obsessive I used to be, just a little more than a year ago!

As much as the embarrassment is corroding me from the inside, I feel a little glad knowing that since I feel bad looking back at my old self, it must mean that I have at least changed for the better.

One of the things I’ve noticed most was my utter desperation and desire for a relationship, to find someone who would love me as much as I love him. But now that I know that I don’t know much about anything, I can confidently say that I don’t know shit about love. Therefore it would be irrational to desire something that I don’t even understand.

And the thing is-I was looking for someone because I thought they’d make my life better. But maybe it’s the other way round. Maybe I need to find someone not to take from, but to give to. Or just stop the search altogether. There’s a difference between hunting for rabbits by shooting them down, and quietly looking after a garden that would attract the rabbits naturally.

Why do I keep writing in this blog? What’s the difference with writing here and writing in my journal? Am I hoping that someone out there will read it and relate to it? Do I want to impress them? Do I want my close friends who read this blog to understand me better? Am I hoping for a trillion followers?

I don’t think it’s any of those…so what am I hoping for?

I think I just want to write. I feel better when I write. And I write better when I type. And I write better when I feel like someone might potentially read my writing. So I guess it’s just an outlet for me to express my thoughts in. And a reality check. I guess in some weird way, I do enjoy reading back on my previous posts and cringing like a squirrel on crack just to see how much I have actually grown. And I guess I have grown quite a bit.

But I won’t get too complacent about that, lest I feel like an idiot all over again.

But the truth is— as long as I have a functioning brain, I will never stop feeling like an idiot.