Stumbled upon an “on and off” diary (the physical kind) started about 9 years ago. Found it while looking for a compilation of Jane Austen’s books that I never finished thinking that Persuasion might be among them; it wasn’t, which means getting a copy must go on my list of things to do.
Anyway, found scribbling on scraps of paper tucked into the diary, which by the way, not surprisingly consists of almost entirely cringe-worthy drivel.
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On taking action:
Why don’t we say what we mean, Why distill, why censor? Why care so much about how it will be received. Why the caution? Throw it to the wind, say what you mean. If not now then when? Never? Why keep it inside, why let it stew, why not let it out, let it live, let it go where it may. Let what consequences happen, happen. Why wait? Until when? Might not the matter with us be that we never say what we mean. We’re never honest to others much less ourselves. We’re so protective of our feelings, our thoughts. We hold back until we’re sure it will be reciprocated, until we’re sure it will be understood. Why won’t we let what will be, be? Life is too short to lie to people you care about.
Funny, I think I never took my own advice. But if I did, a lot less time would be wasted, and sure, a lot less people would stick around. Not many people can handle honesty, the absence of bullshit and the doing away of polite, sterile conversation.
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On a friendship that slipped away:
When did it happen? How did I not see it slipping? Why did I not stem the tide? One day I turn around to find you’re not there, only to realize you haven’t been there for a long while, and I have learnt to live despite you.
They don’t see the surprise, the flash of pain when they talk about you (they don’t know what we had); little nuggets of information, simple things I should have known, things I used to be told first. These little people who never meant anything to you, they won’t know what it’s like to be replaced when I wasn’t told that I’d run my course.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise then that we’re lost to each other, but the questions I don’t have the answer to is “Why?”
It doesn’t matter now, but the reason wasn’t that we’d drifted apart as friends often do. All I can say was that the ‘slipping away’ was intentional, on whose part and why though I can hazard a guess, again is no longer of any importance.
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