I am never one to pay attention to titles
Sometimes I go back here to read my old blog posts, to tell me what I thought and felt around any particular time of the year. This space...it feels like home. An old home, where I grew up. I love my I.ph blogs to bits but they are so different from this one. I am different now.
I set up this blog back in 2005, when I was still seventeen. I don't need to read back too far to know that the seventeen-year old Liz is radically different from the twenty-year (nearing twenty one, ugh) old one. Aside from the new tiny wrinkles on the crease of my eyes and a few pounds on my thighs and arms, the way I think and feel now is worlds away from three years back. I love that I have this blog to keep track of how I evolved. I would like to think I did, you know. It would be sorely depressing if things were otherwise.
I'm not concerned about being witty now. I am not conscious of how I write anymore. I am not so interested in impressing people, either. I don't think about philosophy stuff anymore because I realized that it's pointless; one has to live in the now, think about the now, and reality is only what you think it is---there are so many philosophers who have said this in so many different ways, but they are never this blunt. Life is simple. Change has its time and it can't be hurried up. I am more shallow and more friendly. I am more forgiving and patient but not any less smug and over-confident.
In my eyes, I am both perfect and imperfect. I love who I am.
So many things have happened and I have met so many people. There is one in particular who keeps me grounded. His name is Marco. He tells me when I'm being stupid, corrects me and points me in the right direction. In exchange I buy him Minute Maid and isaw and remind him not to miss his meals. He also calls me a lot when he's particularly stressed out and this is our second Christmas together. Well, I don't blog about him anymore in my current personal blog. What is there to say? That I love him? That's overrated, and no one else but him needs to hear it.
I love my Mom and Dad and my dumb brother. I love my dogs, Hector, Bogart, and Toopy, who are all fat and nice-smelling since they like to lie in the sun like dirty pillows.
I love my life and I am glad that I have it.
Hah, take that, future Liz. I know you'll be in the mood this time of the year to go back to this blog and find out what you thought and felt today. I hope things are even better for you now.
I set up this blog back in 2005, when I was still seventeen. I don't need to read back too far to know that the seventeen-year old Liz is radically different from the twenty-year (nearing twenty one, ugh) old one. Aside from the new tiny wrinkles on the crease of my eyes and a few pounds on my thighs and arms, the way I think and feel now is worlds away from three years back. I love that I have this blog to keep track of how I evolved. I would like to think I did, you know. It would be sorely depressing if things were otherwise.
I'm not concerned about being witty now. I am not conscious of how I write anymore. I am not so interested in impressing people, either. I don't think about philosophy stuff anymore because I realized that it's pointless; one has to live in the now, think about the now, and reality is only what you think it is---there are so many philosophers who have said this in so many different ways, but they are never this blunt. Life is simple. Change has its time and it can't be hurried up. I am more shallow and more friendly. I am more forgiving and patient but not any less smug and over-confident.
In my eyes, I am both perfect and imperfect. I love who I am.
So many things have happened and I have met so many people. There is one in particular who keeps me grounded. His name is Marco. He tells me when I'm being stupid, corrects me and points me in the right direction. In exchange I buy him Minute Maid and isaw and remind him not to miss his meals. He also calls me a lot when he's particularly stressed out and this is our second Christmas together. Well, I don't blog about him anymore in my current personal blog. What is there to say? That I love him? That's overrated, and no one else but him needs to hear it.
I love my Mom and Dad and my dumb brother. I love my dogs, Hector, Bogart, and Toopy, who are all fat and nice-smelling since they like to lie in the sun like dirty pillows.
I love my life and I am glad that I have it.
Hah, take that, future Liz. I know you'll be in the mood this time of the year to go back to this blog and find out what you thought and felt today. I hope things are even better for you now.
posted by Ferretti shoes at
11:21 AM
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