Why do we feel the need to share things? Why must we let others know about our life? Can't we simply keep it to ourselves? Why must we remain interested in how other people would react to our existence?
So I posted some of my thoughts in an online community but got ignored lol. Therefore, I have decided to simply share it to the rest of my non-existent readers, knowing that they'll probably realize how cool it is.
"Basically, there's the story/narrative and character/identity. People believes that they're the character and they follow a story.
Technically, it's difficult to force character development unless it aligns with the story. Likewise, it's impossible to change the course of the story unless there's external force.
For a character to change the story, it requires individual agency and environmental resources. To completely change the character, path of story should be altered or perception of story should be changed. However, to change the character in the easiest natural way, the story must move forward.
Maybe introducing new elements to the story only moves the story forward and doesn't really change the path of the story. Helplessness can be defined as inability to move the story forward or change the path of the story.
At that point, the character can only hope to pile rocks on top of each other in hopes that it would reach the sky. While waiting for the story to progress, they can only rely on extremely slow quantitative change in time and effort while waiting for either the "fateful encounter" or for the quantitative change to reach the threshold limit that it would produce qualitative change in the story. . These qualitative changes then, are like unpredictable sharp turns where you cannot see the path unless you step your feet on there first. There's only so much the data can predict, it cannot see the whole story at all.
From what it seems, only 20% of our actual efforts actually change or move forward the story. 80% of the story are marked by unpredictable changes outside our control that oftentimes override our own efforts.
What do you guys think? Isn't it sad that we can do so little and the little things we do is so easily blown away by the wind?"
Yeah I said something like that. Y'all have probably heard about it or thought about it though, it's the common narrative theory of development. Unfortunately, just like what I said before, everyone ignored what I said. I'm just happy that I have my non-existent readers who would appreciate this writing.
Why am I publishing this knowing full well that no one would read it? I dunno, it's because I have always loved thinking about the possibility that my future children, my future students, and my future friends would come across this and learn many things from it. Perhaps someday, when I die as a king, someone would unearth this ancient archeological internet relic, a collection of random writings, a random story of a random person who lived in Earth, and maybe preserve it in a museum lol.
Haha it makes me happy thinking about it, while remaining completely aware that everything I wrote here, the story I lived, would simply remain unnoticed and forgotten just like the majorify of people in history.
Ah, one can only dream! And keep dreaming, until they're finally awake.
My right arm hurts a lot, it can't lift anymore. Mostly because I had to make and lift dozens of heavy ice packs two days in a row when I usually do it once every two days. Partially because of the exaggerated craving for intimacy fueled by desperation, isolation, and fantasy. I totally did not expect to make another batch of ice packs today when I already made one yesterday.
From what it looks like, I'll have to make ice packs everyday now. Therefore, I'll have to adjust my schedule to accomodate for the extra responsibilities, so I will now sleep at 9 PM and wake up at 4:30 AM. It's a total adjustment of one hour. Ah if only I get paid or rewarded at least half a dollar everyday for that, then I would gladly do it. But this, this kills the remaining light in my eyes and hurts my arm to the point that even asking "When will this end" only brings pain instead of hope.
There is nothing else for me to think. There's nothing else for me to write. I'll sleep and prepare for the next house chores and schoolwork I have to do. This is the life I was born with, yet it is not the one I chose.
"It is only right to be envious of the beggars, the homeless, and the bedridden — for they have no need to deceive themselves or others any longer."
"Those who live in the shadows takes solace in the darkness."
"Keep to yourself, expect nothing, and empty your thoughts, only then you will not know loneliness."