I don’t know what I am going to write about, but I guess I should because I don’t know what else is there to do?

My priorities are made up, my principles too, my personal constitution and all the decisions are based on life events around me, and those I have procured in my big data structure as of some substantial value.  Honesty is such a vague term, ironically. I don’t understand why something is called honest when the truth is ever changing it’s meaning, its causal. Being honest can be taken away when you realise that you were being stupid because you were simply outright ignorant. I am assuming honesty may have something to do with validity of a confession for a prolonged time, but it’s vague nonetheless. In such moments, you see life through grey clouds, and everything appears the same, wherever you can look.

It’s important to be thoughtful, whatever you are being at that time. You are changing, so are your values and value system. I keep thinking that I should paint more, and write more, but finding out more means more these days. I feel ignorant, I feel misinformed, and that puts me in a tricky situation. If I read and become aware of the current situations and admire things that people in general do not understand, I find myself isolated which deprecates my optimism for life, also degrades my opinion of self and ultimately devours my time to fight rather than find out more. I fight, I heal and go on.

Writing is my catharsis. It renders me some meaning.


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