right now

today: she said it seems like the old me shows through sometimes. who i used to be still lingers, but it seems like i "suppress it." i don't even get this blogging business anymore, but here goes.

a person doesn't become old or new. one can become refined or regress, sure. but i am who i am. becoming aware of the world and a student of the universe requires growth and a certain level of dedication. progress is hard but we should all strive for it. if none of us changed throughout the course of our experiences, we would surely be nonsensical and have issues.

 this is weird. i don't know where i'm going. i just wanted to share that she has issue with who i am and who i was in her mind. in my mind, i'm still the same but different. a bit better, i think. i know i'm wrong sometimes. young me did not realize that having rigid beliefs created by a historic text condemns the rest of humanity. she also was scared of very many things and had very little exposure to culture. an ethnic culture in a low-income [but not technically low-income enough for all the good shit like welfare and free lunch and whatever else would have aided my parents to the point that they didn't have to borrow money from other koreans with interest and or work 2-3 jobs and never, ever spend time with young me] household varied my perspective enough for me to be willing to this idea that there are so many things to learn and so much for me to change; for the better.

and i know i should write everyday. but i don't.

and i know i should have gone to the gym to strengthen all the muscles in my leg b/c i will and do have knee problems that very well may intensify with inactivity. (not to mention this 10 year h.s. reunion which i've been planning with 3 others for the better part of 2 years... i have to look hot to death, right?)

but maybe this is just what i need to start.

maybe i can write and get out all of the ideas and stories that cloud my head and sometimes give me anxiety b/c i have a problem with stressing myself out and always assuming the worst.

maybe that psychic in the french quarter was really onto something when he stopped beating around the bush and straight up told me that i'm "a fucking writer" and starving the creative part of me is what gives me most of the issues i have.

maybe i should start capitalizing, but doesn't this look far more quaint and accessible?

maybe someone will read this.

maybe someone won't.

still feels good to have written it.