I am going through quite a dry spell when it comes to creativity, and this means I’m going to start rambling a lot on this blog. Funnily enough, many of my readers quite enjoy my rambles, and get something out of it—probably because I’m quite honest and open whenever I ramble, and delve deep into the nitty-gritty parts of life, the blood and guts.
I sat down at my computer this morning to work on my usual blog post and write a bit more of my novel, not to mention get started on some of my librarian assignments, but when I reached for the good ol’ technique of writing something short but sweet, which I could perhaps post on my blog, I came up with nothing. For some reason, there was no spark of inspiration as there usually is and I was just turning the same dead ideas over and over. That, ladies and gentleman, is not my definition of fun. Only one topic comes to mind at the moment, and it’s a blog topic: all about boys. What is it about boys that is so horrible yet wonderful at the same time? I do not know. One time, I yearned after a boy so badly that when he rejected me, culminating in him terminating phone calls early whenever I tried to keep on talking and not replying to my text messages at all, I flew into a whirlwind of depression, asking myself the question: What is wrong with me?
And the truth is, there is nothing wrong with you, or me. Nothing at all. Well, what I mean is, it doesn’t mean you’re unattractive or a terrible person to be around. But yearning for someone, desperation—that’s not attractive, and, more importantly, it’s not healthy, either. We shouldn’t be grappling after boys as if they are our hook and line to sanity and safety, and for those of us with “daddy issues”, like I do, who lost a father figure early in their life, the need for male affection and attention can feel bottomless and endless. Whenever a boy is nice to me, I can feel the echoes of the affection my father doled out to me then completely took away. Whenever I am around a boy, I feel a sense of safety and security that I never feel when I am around my female friends, and that is something that is natural, but shouldn’t be too marked, because in the end, who we have at the end of the day is ourselves, and our relationship with God.
Fiona Apple wrote a song called “Paper Bag”, and if you go and have a listen to it, it’s indicative of the kind of relationship I sometimes have, inside my head, with the boys I like. It’s like I’m hungry for love. Starving for it. Not anymore, though. Recently, I had a bit of a crush on this guy, and managed to let it evolve into just a proper, good friendship, of which I was very proud of. I didn’t even idealise him, and that, for INFPs, is extremely rare.
I sincerely hope you had a good Christmas Day and New Year’s Day. Lately, I’ve been thinking about what it means to be happy, and something that makes me extremely happy is occupying my time with productive tasks. Productivity makes me happy, and I’m sure it makes you happy, too. I don’t know why, but there’s something about getting things and work done that’s very satisfying, although the work that is getting done has to be work you find enjoyable—doing work you hate isn’t going to get you any closer to the elusive happiness everyone seeks. I’ve also been wondering lately why people get together, and all the wrong reasons they get together for; I won’t delve into it, because I haven’t thought about it thoroughly myself yet, but I get the feeling sometimes there are ugly, twisted reasons people stay together, impure and strange, which makes their relationships little more than give-and-take affairs.
On a darker note, I recently tried reading “The Help” by Kathryn Stockett, and while it was beautifully written and the book was beautiful, the scenes and subject matter were so awful sometimes I actually wasn’t able to finish it. I got to page 138 and had to stop, because one of the character’s secret was about to be discovered, and I didn’t want it to happen so much, I wanted the protagonists to win so badly, I just couldn’t cope and didn’t finish the book. I think us INFPs can be highly sensitive to inhumane or terrible situations, incidents, scenes, movies and books, and for me, in this case, I was no different, and while I’m sure plenty of you have read it and found it marvellous and wonderful, I found it quite difficult to get through, simply because of how badly I wanted the “good guys” to win.
Let’s see. What else is there. I think this business, my new resolution, of blogging as much as possible, is slowly trickling down the drain. Not only did I miss practically all of December, I’ve missed a good portion of January too. Although I don’t plan on writing every single day, I’d like to devote some time to posting on this blog as often as possible, especially since I’m getting a steady amount of viewers each day visiting this blog and I wouldn’t want to disappoint people who come back for fresh content. Writing is the only thing I’m pretty much passable at; I’m not good at other mediums, like video or Instagram; my Instagram, which will remain a secret, since I’ve decided not to post my identity or face on this blog, is just a cobbled rag-tag bunch of photographs of myself and scenes from my daily life; and I’ve tried talking to the camera before, only for it all to go pear-shaped when I re-watched myself and realised I have no ability to speak to a camera without acting stiff and self-conscious at all.
It’s boiling here in Australia right now, so I hope wherever you are, it is at least a bit cooler and more bearable. In a little while, I’ll be attending my librarian course, so I’ll have to leave you for now, but just know, always, that you’re not alone and, although the world can be a beautiful and awful place at the same time, God will catch you if you ever fall. God bless, and have a good day.