Write Down Whatever Comes To Mind

After my workout, I passed by the office building and came up for a drink of water, feeling thirsty.

Recently, I’ve started leaving my computer here too, coming on weekends to work on my thesis. My rented room is drafty and cold—only the blanket feels like a safe refuge. Studying in a work environment feels more productive, though it’s a shame I realized this so late, with less than two months left before I leave. I’ve grown quite fond of this place, at least before it started weighing on me—light workload, decent pay, close to home, and no pushy manager. It fit perfectly with what I imagined an ideal internship would be for someone just starting out. Time has flown by—516 days already, so quickly it almost frightens me, as if I could see the end of my life in a single glance. They say our perception of time depends on novelty—the experience time brings. When you encounter new things, the same stretch of time gives you richer feedback, and your brain, processing more, makes time feel “slower.” There’s truth to that. I’ve tried new things myself to deepen my experience of life. But honestly, I don’t really like novelty—it distorts my true judgment of things, excites me, confuses me. When it comes to evaluating something, I need time to let the novelty fade, to see clearly what I really think. Of course, novelty has its benefits—it rewards curiosity, especially where it rarely runs dry, like in learning. Experience is one thing, judgment another. I enjoy it, but critically.

Lately, I’ve also felt that people are like puppets. It started when I noticed many opinions I thought were uniquely mine actually came from some past experience (showing how hard it is to be “original”). Maybe it’s because in middle and high school, I loved reading philosophical stories and quotes, hoping to compensate for my lack of life experience and guide my future. That’s absurd, of course—understanding comes from reflection, not just learning. True empathy doesn’t exist. Without relevant life experience, you can’t fully grasp the meaning of an idea. You can see this puppet-like quality in most people—the world seems led by a few capable individuals, while many unwittingly become their messengers, processing what they receive to form “their own” views. When you think about it, it makes sense. Humans have been conscious for so long, and the “pooled data” of countless lives and long history has explored every corner of existence. With so many perceptive minds throughout time, even if only a fraction of their insights survive, there’s little truly new under the sun.

People are easily influenced by their environment and others—a survival trait for social animals, nothing to fault. But it makes me feel like I’ve lost myself, like there’s no need to become “me.” Why am I me? Why can’t consciousness break free from the body and wander? Why am I sitting here now?… Oh, I just happen to be me. The birth of consciousness is absurd—a randomly placed nail that pins down my entire life. Life is accidental, death inevitable. I can only be me. This might sound pessimistic, but I’m not a pessimistic person. Progress is my basic stance toward life, the best proof against negativity. I’m just turning over philosophical questions about being human. The three classic questions sum it up well: “Who am I?”, “Where do I come from?”, and “Where am I going?”—philosophy isn’t known for its cheerfulness.

Thinking is consciousness talking to itself; exercise is consciousness talking to the body; learning is consciousness talking to knowledge. That’s probably why I’m good at being alone. Looking back on my solitude in recent years, I might have felt bored at times, but almost never lonely. After all, from birth, each person is utterly independent—no one else is necessary to live. I’ve just returned to life’s most basic state. With a single-core CPU, too much thinking hogs the time slices meant for another process—feeling. When my mind is wrestling intensely, I block out the slightest stirs of the physical world, growing numb. And ever since starting university, academic training has made my writing rigid—or to put it nicely, precise and flaw-proof. Only in the last couple of years have I realized that words were never meant for reasoning and proving—that’s what mathematical symbols are for. What words do uniquely well is describe feelings and convey emotions. Writing that resonates is good writing. To feel fully and express subtly—I still have a long way to go.