How to get views 

Recently, the topic of site traffic has been circulating around me. I’m taking a class dealing in social media, and it highlights the importance of the presence you have on your accounts, and the content you share. One day my professor asked “do you think it’s effective to be real with your audience in a blog format?” I shook my head no. I feel that the majority of people who are “real” are the fake “real”, then there are the ranters, and then there are those that post possibly to much “real” content (I fall into the last two categories). I feel that you can be surface level “real” with viewers, stating socially acceptable beliefs, and sharing your likes and dislikes. You can’t however have moments where you’re unpoised and simply write to get it out and feel the emotions. Successful blogs are the ones that have one topic (typically can’t be about your feelings, cause those aren’t consistent with one topic), are the same word count every time, and always have a crafted message that aligns with your intended topic. 

As you all probably can see, this blog of mine isn’t formed around one centralized topic. I view my blog as more of a documentation of my beliefs, experiences, and thoughts over the span of my life so that I can come back periodically and see what I was thinking about or going through a year ago. Perhaps one day I’ll make a blog about one topic in particular. For now I’m comfortable with keeping it as is, anonymous and real. As the world is becoming increasingly disconnected on a deeper level and increasingly connected on a surface level, I don’t feel the need to try to get my content in the circulation with the high profile blogs. 
Now I’m not intending to bash the well crafted messages of blogs that have succeeded, cause I’ll admit that I partially  just don’t have one topic of interest that I’d like to fully exhaust by writing about it. The only consistent things I’ve ever written were books, because obviously I can’t vear off from the main point of my story. 

Though, I have yet to encounter a high profile blog that’s “real” deep in its core, to where you know each and every flaw. The flaws are hidden because we’re scared to show our imperfection. That’s what frustrates me. We live in a world of status updates rather than full time live streaming, and compare our imperfections to the one moment of perfection displayed in a picture or a post. We begin to devalue what we have to offer as a unique individual and become demotivated to be real. 

Fake or Real

Sometimes I write without thinking. I let the words flow out, and believe them to all be true. That does not always feel genuine though; because with each stroke of the keys, a bit more romanticization occurs. Each moment is put on a pedestal, just as a moment should be, yet it can be misleading. Behind each perfect moment is the conscious intent of trying to see the good and let the bad fade away, and with that, you get a flawless memory of an event. Then there are times when I write just the good, but the bad still ruminates in my mind. I fight it and beg it not to take my soul away from the appreciation of the good times. Moments are fleeting, life is only temporary, and we all are imperfect in our ways. We do what we know works and hope for the best. We’re all fucked up in our tiny ways, and sometimes those pieces of us affect others when we let them seep out into our actions. I guess what I’m saying is that sometimes the good and bad are so intense, that if you just focus on the good, something might appear to be perfection. On the other hand, when something is purely good and does not have those lows that make the highs feel higher, you may not have the words or the urge to write about that kind of good. I’ve found that the times in my life when I’ve talked to you (my readers) is usually when I was my most depressed. I sought to writing because it was my refuge away from the lack of silence in my own head. When I’d let any thoughts out, whether it was actually purging the bad ones or not, it would make me feel better. Writing something inspired in that time of my life made me feel like something was going right, even when nothing really was. A couple months ago, I was the saddest I had ever been, but wrote a lot of posts that I look back on and am pleased with how they make me feel. I guess at the very least during that time, I was introspective.   

Fear

I’m sacred that I’ll convince myself once more that I am wholeheartedly over you. I’m afraid I’ll fall into that abyss of denial and will never find my way back to you. I’m quick to guard my heart, which means if you tell me I’m single, I’ll prove it to you. I’ll share the most meaningless exchanges and inject as much meaning as I can for the other person. I’ll gain their affections, hoping their piqued interest will someway invigorate my attraction to them. Currently I’m playing this little game, I already have my first play in motion, and I’m afraid it is working all too easily. You see I’ve never really had trouble in this game, I just chose to never play it, cause it didn’t suit my style. Instead I played the waiting game. I’d observe the players that walked by, and if any looked particularly unique, then I’d prepare to play. They’d take note, and the games would begin. The only reason I ever participated is because when I waited, I had the opportunity to play an entirely different game altogether. I found that when you play with the best, you always have the most fun. I miss playing with the professionals, the rookies aren’t just cutting it. They don’t know how to make my heart skip a beat, or give me those nervous butterflies. Though maybe it is due to the fact that my heart’s just not in the game anymore. My body is, but even it wants to retract and discontinue what I’ve started. I have many options, but you’re the only one I love. 

That Damn Gun

Day by day, the gun becomes more appealing. Lately I’ve been ready to shoot. I’ve picked it up very infrequently up until now. Though recently, my hand has had it gently grasped, ready to pull that trigger and kill that figure once and for all. I still don’t want to, but the figure keeps getting closer, making threats, stabbing at my heart, coming close to ripping it out. It would be much simpler to just end its existence, because that seems to be what the figure wants these days. At first I thought the figure wanted to simply provoke a reaction to finally be noticed and re-acknowledged, but since then things have changed with the figure. Assisted suicide. That’s what it wants. Or is it? I’m not quite sure…

Alone

Nobody knows. It would take attention. Intuition. A moment of not focusing on oneself. There’s beauty in this world, but there’s also an area of darkness that remains inconspicuous to most. No one notices it within others very often. It’s all internal. It’s all in our heads. Well that’s the most dangerous thing for one’s sanity. For their mental health. For their happiness. To continue going on through life, caring about others, wanting to connect to them, needing to connect to them, but not feeling the same care reciprocated. It’s like you’re that cashier that continuously asks distracted customers how they are, and wishing their ungrateful ass a good day when you finish giving them what they bought. You’re left feeling alone, while standing surrounded in a crowded room. You’re never alone in the literal sense, but you’re always alone in reality. Depth doesn’t seem to exist anymore. Intimacy is a rarity. No one knows how to connect anymore… Actually, that’s not true. No one cares. There is a lack of interest. “Focus on someone but myself? Make someone feel valued? Have genuine interest in someone? Pshh that’s too much work, I’ll just let people treat me like some amazing discovery while I remain indifferent towards them.” 

My Reflection

The other day, I looked in my mirror, and in the reflection, I saw a stranger. She looked at me with wide eyes, begging to be noticed, but I avoided eye contact. She made weird faces, bugging out her eyes, sticking out her tongue, forcing a smile, finally shedding tears in defeat. None of it worked. I looked at her, but not directly at her. I was scared, and she was sad. I had forgotten her in the mirror. Every time I step in front of that mirror, I look right past her. I don’t look, because I don’t recognize her anymore. I’m afraid that if I look too long, it will all become to real. I’ll finally take notice that I’ve heartlessly abandoned her for all these days. The fear that I’ll remember her. Who she was, her vibrancy, her enthusiasm for life, how I felt whole when I saw her in the mirror and could tell you her name. Every second she’s trapped in that mirror, I hear her cry. It’s quiet in efforts to not disturb anyone, yet I hear it all the time and it keeps me awake at night. She knows I hear her. I feel her presence beside me wherever I go. She and I used to be one, but now we’re two entirely different entities. She’s drowning in her tears, and I’m numb. She screams at me, in order to bring me back to reality. She makes a mess in every area of my life in order for me to see the destruction to bring me back, to make me aware. Yet I’ve lost all touch with reality. She knows that. That’s why she continues this seemingly pointless effort. 

She’s the only one who knows, and she’s the only one who can bring me back.

Vague 

Lately you may have noticed, that even though I’m posting more frequently than I have in the past, the posts aren’t long, and the content is very vague and random. Truly, there is an underlying theme, and if you deciphered hard enough, I’m sure you’d find it, but for the time being, I have to remain vague. Lately I’ve been keeping to myself about a lot of things. So by nature, I feel compelled to write it out since otherwise I would feel like a shaken up soda can ready to burst. You see, in a way, those of you who read my blog are given more insights into what’s going on in my life, and you don’t even know the half of it. Imagine those that I don’t even show a single sentence of these posts to. They are informed of even less. Originally I planned to keep this blog completely anonymous, but as of now, I have about 5 people I know in person who have access to my posts. At first I was glad to finally be able to just mutter “read my blog” to save myself the effort of reiterating a thought or idea. Though now, it’s not as nice. The moment you’re going through an unpleasant moment in your life is when anonymity appears the most appealing it ever has. I wish I could write as freely as I once did, but given the fact that it’s no longer anonymous, I can’t do that. So I will continue admitting every unfiltered detail of my thoughts and feelings, but for now, they’ll be expressed through metaphors, or vaguely described from a detached observer (referring to my post written in second person, titled: “Why They Leave”). 

Don’t Fret

My body is at peace, my soul is in turmoil. Yet my soul is responsible for bringing my body the amount of nourishment it needs. I am not starving. My soul is preoccupied, and so therefore my body forgets the hunger. It doesn’t kill me. If anything, this is the medicine it needs. To truly desire the nourishment my body truly craves is a wonderful feeling. Here I am, all too often left even more indulged than I ever wanted. I feel uncomfortably full. I don’t like that feeling. So when my mind tells my body it is time to take a break from the nourishment, maybe it is trying to get my body to feel again. That overwhelmingly full feeling suppresses the satisfaction. It dampens the enjoyment of a perfect meal. 

It’s not premeditated, it is simply forgetfulness. It is quite interesting that now is the time you feel the need to worry. Please don’t fret over me. I am handling myself. In fact, nothing is truly the matter at the moment. If something were, you wouldn’t have a clue. No one ever does. Though that is ok. I don’t need the council of others to help me back up when I am down. I’ve learned to deal with it on my own. If anything, handling it alone in a quiet room with some space to think and write is all I need to get back on track. If anything, all the worried words makes it worse. Remember how when you’d fall as a child, it wasn’t the pain itself that startled you, it was the gasps and worried eyes of those around you. The pain wasn’t even noticeable until it was brought to your attention. It prompts me to ask myself “is there something I should be upset about? Am I anorexic because I forgot a meal yesterday, then the next, decided I would prefer to stay in and eat a little less than an “adequate” meal?” No, it doesn’t. I am aware of how my emotions affect me, and it is simply the tunnel vision on my tasks that has me like this. Yes, I was feeling upset the other night and there are still some residual feelings, but it isn’t like these feelings weren’t present before. They have been going on for quite a while now, you just now got a glimpse of them. I didn’t intend to give you a preview of them, it just happened as a result of my will weakening. I didn’t have the energy to put on a fake facade that night.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever written about my opinions on advice. Though, no matter if I have or not, here is the updated version of what I feel about the topic. Recently I have come to realize that the more “advice” I get on how to live my life, the less I feel like those around me truly understand. I have made decisions based on my own intuition this far, and I have done quite well. I know what I can handle, I know what’s best for me, and I want to be in charge of what I do and do not regret. I feel like advice is a flowery word to mask what it truly is: others interjecting their opinion and judgement on the situation, not their understanding, and not their support.

A while ago, someone asked me if I had to pick between two extremes, which would I chose: a person who is constantly in my business, asking what’s wrong, giving advice, and being “there for me,” or someone who recedes for a while and allows me to be alone to handle my emotions on my own. At first I thought I would want the first, because I wouldn’t want the second who would “abandon” me when things got tough. Now that i think about it, I would choose the latter, because advice that lacks perspective is worse than no advice at all. Though, I’ve found that I prefer a silent presence over all. Someone I want around, who will just lay with me as I think about what’s on my mind.

Unconditional 

Happy as ever, a picture perfect couple on paper. Around everyone else you two appear to be happier than ever. Deep inside you both are breaking. You want to make this work, but is it simply becoming a test to see how long you can maintain it? Sure you two care for one another, but where is the passion, the lust, the total understanding. No not the best friend kind of understanding. The kind that when you look into that person’s eyes, you know you’ve finally found that feeling, that connection that you’ve been looking for. It’s not just a lustful gaze, comfortable gaze, or a passionate gaze, it’s all of those and more combined into one look. You two are the only ones in the room in that moment, and everything fades away. The objects in the room are just a blur to you. All you see are those beautiful eyes staring back at you. That’s surely not what this is though… Yes there’s history, and yes they’ve got your back, but is them being them simply enough for you? If years down the road you were to meet again, with faded memories, and see them pounds heavier, would that feeling they give you still remain the same? If they were to do something that frustrated you to no end, would your reasoning be to get mad now, but not give up on them because the feeling of being apart would tear you apart to no end? Is your love for them unconditional? Not simply meaning you’d go out on a limb for them. That’s caring for someone–It’s quite common. The kind of unconditional that draws you to them when they’re away. They remain in your thoughts even when out of sight. The kind of connection that no matter what they do, no matter what’s going on, no matter how they look, just being them is enough. That’s all that matters. You wouldn’t have it any other way. You don’t want someone fitter, more intelligent, more accomplished, you want them. Only them. They’re perfection. Not external perfection, but rather internal. Every part of their soul resonates with yours and brings you peace, happiness, and fulfillment. If something exists between you two that we all can’t see, then by all means, continue on, keep the details of your relationship a secret to others. Allow others to see only a mirage of the two of you. Pretend to be the cookie cutter perfect couple. When you two appear to fumble and sink into a boring depressive state in public, don’t feel the need to defend your relationship if there’s more to it all that no one else is able to see but you two. If being apart is harder than being with them, then by all means, stay and savor every moment you’ve got. They’re your definition of perfect, not anyone else’s. Don’t feel the need to defend a connection you know is strong. Though if what they all say is true, if they’re simply not the one for you, listen to them, listen to those doubts you’re having. Perhaps you care for them, but spending your time with someone who doesn’t truly love you unconditionally, who you don’t truly love unconditionally, is surely a waste. 
To those of you who read this thinking it was about you, just know that this isn’t just one person or couple I’m talking about. This is based on a mixture of all the relationships I’ve seen around me. But if at any point this made you think of someone, or a relationship, don’t ignore that. Just look at this like one of those cheesy reposts on Instagram with the caption “I never mentioned a name, but someone popped into your head while reading this.” 

tea with honey

Imagine for a second, a freshly steeped cup of tea. No sweeteners or creamers added. It is raw and unique in its particular set of flavors. Each cup of that one flavor however, is different than the next. No cup of tea is the same. Though once you get past that simple fact, there is also tea with honey. This cup of tea with honey is just like the rest, but it is extra sweet. It’s addictive. At points you find yourself having an afternoon cup of tea with the addition of honey not because you find yourself parched, but rather, you crave it.

Voices are much like tea. They’re all different, whether or not they share similarities, not one is the same. When you add sugar and creamer to tea, I would say that’s a thicker version of a particular tone of voice. But when you add honey to tea, it is like a voice with a perfect accent.

The way you speak entrances me. I could listen to you whisper sweet nothings into my ear all day. When in a fit of passion, you declare your desire for me as a whisper in my ear, the trill and the quality of your voice weakens me every time. I never knew a voice could seduce me until I heard you speak for the first time. It’s unique in every way, and just hearing your voice makes me smile and bite my lower lip in utter content. Hearing you laugh is almost as entrancing as hearing you speak, because there is a thickness and perfect taint to that beautiful laughter. Its unapologetically raw and pure in the expression of your true natural pitch. That laughter of yours resonates within a room and brings warmth with it. I have one last comment and then I’ll leave it at that. I love your voice and want you to know that every moment you speak, every moment you laugh adds to the essence of a room. Don’t let that perfect voice ever be silenced. Don’t ever let it go to waste.