I’ve heard that you don’t rise to the level of your goals, but you fall to the level of your systems. At least, something along those lines. And yes, lately—actually, today—I had to update some systems in my life. Funny how I never mention any specifics, right? I usually do that in my private journal. I don’t mention everything—well, isn’t it obvious? Out of privacy.
And here, I would end the post because sometimes I just don’t know what to write about, at least until the flow of thoughts in the draft I’m writing starts to form into something naturally. Is it like that this time? I’ll see. I’m observing this as I type these letters and words on my keyboard in the present moment.
Am I happy? I think I got myself into some mess—like neglecting male-female relationships, any kind of relationships—getting myself into a mindset of isolation, constricted by rules and requirements. But it could be worse. Seriously. I have a roof over my head. I don’t have to battle the cold and wet rain in some cardboard box or tent. I have food and money to get food whenever I need it. I have health, and although I’ve disrespected and abused it, my body is still holding on, waiting for me to realize that it deserves the respect I owe it. Not with trash food, alcohol, nicotine, or working late into the night when it desperately needs rest.
Speaking of trash food, I’ve started mentally renaming certain brands whenever I see or hear about them. Now, in my head, Burger King is Garbage King. And, of course, I couldn’t forget about McGarbage. Why? Because, for the past month, I’ve watched myself go to those places, buy a trash burger or garbage fries, and punish my body with food that contains very little nutrition. I literally paid—countless times—PAID for my body to process their garbage food. So yeah, I liked the idea so much that Pringles have now permanently become Garbage Can, and so on. And it really works. Using those names instead of the original ones makes my mind go, “Well… why would I even bother paying to process that trash?” And although my stomach hasn’t evolved to have a face of its own, I know it’s smiling. And that makes me smile too—because I’m not a walking trash bin for processed, unhealthy food. For them, it’s just business. They don’t care about our diets or health, and paying for it feels like an insult to myself by myself.
As you can see, my view of junk food has evolved quite a bit. And now, out of habit, I’ve been to those “restaurants” but walked out with my credit balance unchanged.
Alright, that’s it for that topic. And here it is again—the moment where my mind doesn’t really have anything to share. You might be wondering, but this text is raw. I didn’t have a plan in mind before I started typing. What you’re reading now is just the flow of my thoughts, with music playing in the background. If you’re curious about the song playing right now, it’s WALLS Trilogy by Kings of Leon. I like when YouTube recommends songs I haven’t heard before. The algorithm, when making playlists, tends to play the same songs over and over again. I have an Excel file with a list of more than 800 songs, and with a macro button that, when clicked, plays a random YouTube link—a random song from the list. It’s good. It disrupts the fixed algorithm, showing YouTube that I watch various videos, not just the same songs on repeat.
By the way, I’m adding that song I mentioned before, so I don’t forget it. That was the whole point of making the song list in Excel—to never lose them. Done. Now that song will stay there, technically, forever.
I have to admit, this week’s post is different in terms of content. Usually, I share deep thoughts about things, but what I like about sticking to a weekly post is that it forces my mind to adapt when old ideas aren’t there. I have a lot of deep thoughts, but falling into a pattern of sharing them every single week is just that—a pattern. And forcing myself to write something deep every time defeats the purpose of creating them in the first place, which is simply to express myself. Not in any specific way, but in whatever way my mind wants to be expressed—not confined to a formula.
And since I’m not confined to a formula, writing this post—which I initially felt wouldn’t flow smoothly—ended up being more fluid than I expected. Because here I am, just writing my thoughts down on a screen. I like it. I’ve always wanted to express myself in words. I used Instagram before—made symbolic pictures and attached descriptions of what was on my mind. But of course, the text space under an Instagram post is limited, and there’s only so much you can express in that tiny window. But with this, I can write, and write, and that makes me satisfied. Content.
Third time. Once a thought ends, there’s this moment again where I have no direction, nothing to share in this present moment. I actually wonder—who do I think I’m writing this for? If I believe I’m writing it for myself, for my future self who might read this, then writing feels natural and easy. But sometimes, when I think I’m writing for an audience, there’s this shadow of thought that someone else might read it and form an opinion about it. But I’ve realized over time that wondering what another mind might be thinking doesn’t really do anything—other than creating concern. Concern about the opinions of others, which has nothing to do with self-expression. And self-expression is the opposite of concern over an ocean of opinions—it makes logical sense.
Funny how the mind works. I think I understand it, but then it shows me that I don’t—that there are forces within that seem to control themselves… or not. I wonder now: is the universe outside the body vast, or is the universe within the brain even more vast? A network of neurons, biomaterial—a small yet immeasurable universe confined within the human skull. And in all of this, what am I? I—this thing that acknowledges the mystery of the very brain it belongs to. What am I? I’ve been asking myself that question a lot lately.
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