Fed up.

7 days ago it was my birthday; today was JJ's birthday. He and I no longer talk to each other; however, 7 days ago he called me and wished me happy birthday. It was the first time we ever talked since winter holidays. We talked for almost two hours, and it was still a lot of fun. Today I got a few posh truffles and a small fancy note card for him that says "NPV > 0. Happy Birthday!" NPV is a method to measure whether a project is worth investing; if it's positive then it's definitely doable. I wrote that because when he called me on my birthday, he told me that as he didn't get me anything so I should definitely not get him anything or he would feel too pressured. I replied that it would be an investment for me because 30 years later when he becomes rich and famous I will get a lot more back. So that's where the punchline came from.

Then I realized that the last time I was intimate with a guy was 7 months ago. I have not kissed, or even touched a guy for 7 months. After I came home at midnight, I sat on my chair, leaned against my cushioned chair back, and I cried, simply because it felt like a man's chest, without heartbeats. Then I figured, "tonight I am not going to continue to work (although I worked until 11pm); I am going to write."

But I haven't written much. I just feel like posting something I wrote 7 years ago for a literature class, when I was 18. I am so fed up with myself because the way I perceive the world and people is still exactly the same as 7 years ago. I had everything sorted out 7 years ago but why am I not doing any better?

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[All About Reality]

The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the Ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle
Why not I with thine?
－Percy Bysshe Shelley, “Love’s Philosophy”

How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot?
The world forgetting, by the world forgot:
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each prayer accepted, and each wish resigned;
Labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
‘Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;’
Desires composed, affections ever even;
Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to heaven.
－Alexander Pope, “Eloisa to Abelard”

A human being's definition of innocence is nothing more than an imaginary time and space where one presumptuously ravages whatever they supposedly own until free from desire, and then free from self.

Valentine wishes she could start over; she would rather black out for that one second, never gazing into those eyes she once gazed into for one second.

She fails to understand why the most painful reality cannot be reasoned by any logic.

It grows passionately in a rootless fake world, misunderstood in limbo. As chaste as Valentine, this is the foundation for her sense of security and that of those individuals around her. But at the safest moment, her soul is enclaved by a group of monsters; though threatless, hasty breaths are the price for this silence.

At least she loved, left with fantasies in a lonely life with undistinguishable reality and imagination. Numerous scenes of joy flash through her mind continuously, days and nights. Despite her impeccably careful and logical trains of thoughts, she ignores that cruelty is a part of the only beautiful coincidence; the only beautiful coincidence of "among millions of people you meet whom you meet; within millions of years, in the infinite prairie of time, not a step early, nor a step late, you are right in time."

Initiation is the sudden realization of that moment, and it also seems to be a mistake, making people devote all the sentiments to the ignition point; however, the end is chaos. Even if one searches with a lifetime, they can never understand what forces fate to move in the opposite direction of benign hypotheses.

Valentine bluntly questions God's cruelty; as if it is a thousand-year curse, lifting her to the mountain peak and then pushing her off the cliff, without causing a single physical wound.

An unsolvable equation is unsolvable because the mathematician has more assumptions than desired; the prophecy of a astrologist is only meant to comfort a heart that desires more than it gets. Hard to complete, the demon sneaks in and blood slowly gets cold.

If the shatter of every fantasy is predictable, why bother falling into this gorgeous yet dangerous burning smelt? It is the shackle that God gives to humans after creating them; whoever coupled has to be locked to the other. If God's will is disobeyed, knells of all human values will be heard.

Valentine knows clearly she is addicted to the poison. She is left with only two choices: she can either completely believe in the hallucinations after drinking the poison, giving hope to the imaginary and nonexistent or powerfully stab herself, getting sobriety in return.

Eternal sunshine comes from the spotless mind. Valentine recalls the befuddlement and sadness while asleep. She touches the scars on her cheeks burned by boiling tears, which appear to be the stains of warm water in the eyes of the irrelevant; in her heart, they smart silently.

A human being's definition of guilt is nothing more than an imaginary time and space where they innocently pursue the unsuppressed desire from the bottom of the heart until they anticipate, and then possess.