‘i drank coffee’ , ‘i drank cold coffee’ , ‘i drank cold coffee yesterday’ , ‘i drank that cup of cold coffee you left by the bedside yesterday’ , ‘i drank all of the cold coffee you left by the bedside yesterday’.

Precision - it makes all the difference. What is a lie? A lack of precision? No - but a lack of precision is an attempt to cover/avoid something without having to lie. Either ways - it’s not a very likable action. I do many things, but the amount of lies falls low - I prefer truths over lies almost every time. Lies are contagious - it grows, it never stops (& one doesn’t even realizes it as it adheres itself to one’s life); only removable when you dig deep enough to its roots and yank it all out.

what can one really say about the sea? one doesn’t simply talk about the air that surrounds us, do we? what would the mermaids say about the sea?

the sea - a monstrous wideness, foaming white and grey on the surface incessantly. It supports the sea creatures without any effort at all - by simply being there. what is there to praise about the sea? It gives off a melancholic sense - almost always, but esp. when viewed from the airplane - when it looks like a massive pan of bluish greyness that looks deathlike yet serene. there is nothing romantic about the ebb and flow of the waves, never-endingly hitting the shore; it looks pathetic, how they are both tied together by nature, without the liberty to go their separate ways. sea glass - something I like but would not give all the credits to the sea itself. how can it possibly create such beauty without the millions and millions of pebbles , sands and alike - of different colours, textures and size? a collaboration of opposites which made beauty possible in miserable conditions. humans constantly feed the sea with massive amounts of garbage which it then spit it all out onto the shorelines, as if to say, ‘clean up your own shit, humans!’

Doing exams I don’t need to pass; going places I don’t feel comfortable to be in.

Everything I do recently pretty much defies - ‘do what you love, love what you do’. It feels like being choked by the air I breathe. The very last art coursework doesn’t seem much promising - it feels like something I am forced to do; I have absolutely no interest in it - how can I possibly write well about where I live, when all my life I’ve been trying to get out of here. There is no fucking inspiration here, at least that is what I see/feel/believe. I have been continuously scrunching up balls of papers & staring at blank, lined sheets in utter disinterest. Nevertheless, I’ve got to get it done by Wednesday - to be reviewed & etc. before I leave the island again - for a bit.

I’ve got to set my priorities. ( sometimes, I think I would’ve been slightly better off a thousand miles away; if I’d stayed. But then again, I’ll be hooked onto a dreamy sort of phase that would eventually end in a endlessly increasing amount of problems - why the fuck would I want that? If problems will exist anywhere and everywhere, I’d rather it be a place I choose to be in, not one that I settle in just because it feels safer in some relatively minor ways. )