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18 | Chronic student | Aesthete | Introvert

I write because I don’t know what I think until I read what I say.
― Flannery O’Connor

I’ve never been good at this so what you see below is a sort of self-introduction, over-dramatised, a throwback to the first thing I posted on the internet. It’s rambling but based on what goes on in my head almost every day.


hello, I’m D!

For memories that propel us, wounds that run deep and people who teach.

~the introduction~

I don’t remember the time I started talking to myself. Or the time I imagined my first imaginary friend into being. But I’m constantly reminded of how much it has potentially changed me as a person.
I know I think too much, way more than adults think is healthy. I formulate responses, plan escapes, prepare for circumstances before I’ve even entered into a conversation.

~the weird part~

I often end up being the weird one, the kid who’s too lost to know she’s already on a path. And I admit, I do pass as weird if you pass as what’s considered normal or I pass as normal if you’re weird. I think it’s all about perspective. But when there are only 10 people and they all think almost alike, there’s an army attesting to my weirdness.

I feel left out, and feel like nothing matters when I get pulled into conversations concerning people I’ve never met, people who thrive on fame and wealth. I don’t have anything against fame or money or comfort, I just think it’s redundant to talk about them when neither party is benefitting from the conversation and sustaining loss of their time.

I like reading movie plots instead of watching the whole thing; I enjoy envisioning people from words than taking in another's portrayal and I'm too impatient to sit through a movie unless I really want to watch it. I sometimes end up rambling, talking too much if I'm annoyed. I get scared easily, though I don't do a good job of showing it. I love the night, be it going out for a walk or simply sitting under the sky, but I'd be terrified if I ended up locked in a dark room.

~random thoughts~

I used to enjoy jokes, I still spend time replaying memes in my head but it’s been a while I’ve heard a joke, in person.
The classic riddle kinds because no one says that anymore. Most jokes these days have an underlying creepy tone and you probably won’t get them if you don’t use social media like the average human.

I have an almost eerie amount of self-awareness, I seem to know quite a bit about my surroundings when I’m not supposed to. I feel concerned for strangers.
Sometimes I wonder about how many stories go unwritten, and I feel like immortality might be interesting if I get to write every person’s story. Sometimes I sense pain in a fleeting gaze, anger in a smile or concern when someone talks about groceries.


I write more than I think I should. I started with stories, found out journalling was therapeutic and somehow fell into Poetry. I don’t think they’re good but they’re human and I like to think it’s what provides essence to our basic sense of humanity. I wish to remain a lifelong student and I love getting feedback and constructive criticism on all that I do.

And finally, I have conflicting interests. I don’t write or talk about it much, but I love Science – more than English or writing or even art. I’m sometimes ashamed of the thought because I think Science can be art too or maybe because I understand writing better than I’ll ever understand Science.
Science more often than not, makes me feel dumb but I crave that need to learn more, to understand how we came into being or why we did. It’s got this whole aura of discovery and exploration and has a purpose in its gait.

And I’m a Christian. Science and religion just don’t seem to go hand in hand, at least not yet but I desperately want them to. Can you imagine a world where there’s a solid explanation and concrete proof for religious and scientific theories? I can and I can’t but I want to. I don’t like death but I like thinking about whether it’s an end, a checkpoint, a new beginning or just a process.

~more thoughts~

It’s a random world and I love how there’s no algorithm to predict where our humanity leads us. There’s no rhythm to pain or anxiety.
Grief can be an authentic journey of self-discovery and it hurts so much but there’s a blinding light that carries you through. The pattern where joy and sorrow seem to end up in a cycle is comforting but we never know how long they might last.

I’m a random stranger, lost but enjoying every second of this unpredictability that life casts. Not because it’s fun but because the uncertainty has a certain charm to it, it’s not beautiful or thrilling, just charming. The way you feel when the book you’re reading is interesting, not good or bad but interesting and you want that second to just ponder on life, not think what comes next and turn the page in your own time.

It’s a random world and I’m calling it art because it justifies my over-analyzing it.

Random art, it is.

And when random is art, I like to think we all are.

Blogger @ Random Specific Thoughts


Science, reading, writing, drawing, overthinking




Poetry lies its way to the truth.
— John Ciardi