mindwanderings

I tend to stay up really late at night until morning, knowing full well that I have to get up early the next day. There’s something about the quietness of the dorms and the world outside that puts me in peace at 3:00 am. I usually vow to change this habit of mine when I am feeling drowsy, tired, and weary the following day but I never stick to it. Or maybe I know that I don’t want to give up something that I usually cannot get anytime else. I’ve tried being completely nocturnal but it’s really odd, according to those peers who live around me, who’s lives happen during the day. I guess it would be like choosing friends over sleep. Yeah, that’s a toughie.

What exactly do I do, you ask? Oh, there are endless things to do! I usually read or attempt to write in my journal, write letters, at times draw, and maybe one day — I’ll bust out the whole paint supply and go crazy. The feeling is just as if one is free and open; there are no restrictions. I have tried confronting myself about this situation, and it seems to me that solitude helps me to think. I can not only reflect on the past day, but I can hear myself think versus being around sound that often distracts me. Or maybe it’s just that! Maybe I get distracted easily…hmm. What were we talking about again?

I will change my habit because I am not getting enough sleep. I know this because all I think about during class is how much I want to drop down on my bed and be wrapped up in my blanket. I need to change not only because I don’t feel well with my lack of sleep, but looking at my health long-term, this cannot be good for me. I mean, I know what bad things are. Bad things are living off Vitamin Water and Nutrigrain for a whole month, and nothing more. I lost 5 pounds, which I didn’t need to in the first place. Bad things are living off Diet Green Tea for a whole month in high school because it was a friggin’ bet to see how much weight we can lose. I look back now, and these choices were absolutely stupid. I definitely do not take care of myself. Well, at least I excercise.

Although I enjoy being up around and about while everyone is shut-eyed, I know that I can easily do the things I do at 3:00 am, at 3:00 pm. It’s just a matter of location, location, location. I need to start taking better care of myself soon or else I won’t live to see the next morning.

Early in the morning on my way to class, the sight that I saw was nothing short of amazing. It had rained the night before and the ground was wet and gray. I walked halfway across campus before seeing a soul, which was something new because there is usually always somebody wandering about. The air was a bit nippy but it was nothing that a sweater couldn’t fix. Although I was 5 minutes late to class today, I was welcomed by the beautiful day.

I don’t know anyone, really, who enjoys a good rain storm like I do. There’s something about the lack of light that captures a certain mood. I suppose the Autumn days bring about this melancholic feeling. I wonder how it is back home right now, in San Diego. I never knew a day that was horrible, life was always so merry and sunny. What a change though, to be in San Francisco where the sun barely peeks out behind the clouds. I’ve been adjusted because I knew what was in store for me. And I left home anyway.

As I was walking along the sidewalk, I noticed that the leaves left colorful imprints on the wet ground. Imprints as in, the colors of the leaves had smeared and all that was left was a bright array of colors. These are the times that I regret not bringing the Pentax up with me. I miss photography. I was never more interested in color photography than I was with black and white. There’s a serene solitude that comes with a picture left without color; it somehow captures quietness and peace. One would have to add their own color by looking at it.

Regarding my writing, what I’m planning on doing is just studying great authors and their style of writing. Maybe someday, my own will come. I just love when the words just flow; it’s one of the most beautiful thing. I can’t rush anything, I’m told, because everything takes time. Speaking of time, it’s halfway through the semester and though it can be slow at times, it’s going along steadily. Next year I’ll be moving out of the dorms into an apartment. I’ll take on a job in addition to school, of course. So, this is life, eh?

I’m off to do other things now, hopefully get in some reading time before I head off to journalism class. Although the sky seems dreary right this moment, I feel at peace and appreciative and, happy. I’m happy. What a beautiful life.

It’s been a month since I moved to San Francisco, and I had forgotten why I was so eager to move away from home. The second I arrived here, it felt as if doors and dreams were opening in front of me. I remembered how I felt I needed to be here, I wanted to be in this amazing city; it didn’t matter how I would get here. I was driven by dreams to pursue my writing and ultimately get away from distractions at home.

A certain song or picture would in a way, encourage me to remember the past and thus, relive the spirit. Although this makes me nostalgic at times, I don’t regret leaving home. I don’t regret leaving anybody. I think those close to me are doing well without my presence; I should know — I regularly keep in touch with them.

So what’s the problem? Why am I writing this? In many ways, I feel relieved that I have finally moved on from everything that I used to know. It’s not like I won’t be coming back home, but I feel a small sense of guilt in saying that I don’t miss home. No, I don’t think I will be going back home to stay. I’ll be traveling around through the years, which will hopefully enable me to become more open to myself.

Some could argue that, it doesn’t necessarily matter where you are – home is everywhere. If you are okay no matter where you are, life is within you. You are in peace. Good. I’ve yet to find that place and until I do, I shall be wandering about, living my own life.

As I run alongside the lake most evenings, I think about how I’m finally here in the big city. I’ve never told anyone that the sole reason I came up here was to work on my writing; I always knew that I felt empty. I hope to improve not by anyone’s standard necessarily, but more so for myself. I don’t think I should stick to any guidelines too strictly, but close enough that my writings aren’t frustrating to read. There are times here when I feel that I am losing sight of my goals, such as not being motivated enough to keep working. All I need is some time to set my mind straight again, and to put my emotional stability in check. Then I’ll be right on track again.

I don’t miss home. I’m sorry. But I shouldn’t be sorry. I didn’t feel that there was anything for me there. I loved it, but now I left it. I will say though, that I miss the familiarity and the community feeling of it. I miss some types of people, some groups of people, some individuals, but I feel a sense of comfort that everyone is coming along, because life goes on.

I’m doing well, by the way. I have everything settled here, including me. But, it won’t be long until I move away to Oregon in a couple of years. I also appreciate that I have a sense of safety, knowing that I can come home anytime I need to. A plane ticket will put me on a flight back home. Though, I don’t think I will need it anytime soon.

I’ve kept journals for years for the sole purpose of becoming a better writer. I figure, the more I write, the better I will get. The thing is, writing doesn’t always come easy. Should it? I skim through my journals and find old poetry and rambling thoughts. What use is this for me? I don’t have a definition of “good” set in my mind, but at least I want to be satisfied in my choice of words and sentence structures.

No writing of mine is ever good enough for me. I was part of my school’s literary magazine yet I decided not to publish any of my writings, although I knew that I had complete access to do so. I think every writer is their own worst critic. I’ve always believed, though, that if your writing is honest and from your heart, that’s the best it can be.

I am originally from San Diego and moved to San Francisco to get away from distractions. My goal was to work – read, write, write, write. So far, I don’t feel motivated to write anything, but I think that’s an excuse for that I’m not working hard enough. So far, I feel frustrated at everything and everyone. So far, I’m a bit disappointed that I am not pushing myself to keep on writing, consistently and persistently.

So what exactly do I write about? That’s hard to say; I mainly scribble my thoughts on observations that I see, how I feel when I see it, though lately the pages in my journal seem like a rant. I’m sure they are all about how I can’t seem to get my words together. Don’t be surprised. In fact, I am thinking about trashing this blog in a second.

Despite my pessimistic attitude, I am hopeful that I will improve. As long as I have changed and improved since the beginning, I guess that is all that I ask for. Hopefully this blogging experience will aid me in my endeavor. Maybe I’ll even get back to poetry.