If you had come, you would’ve seen me

I guess a part of me always knew I was writing it wrong.. but I never had the strength to accept it and the guts and the energy to search and to learn the proper way to write it. Until few days ago when I watched a movie and it finally resonated with me, from the dialogue.

I got it. It makes sense now. Which means I have to take all blog from the beginning of time until the present day, read everything and correct. And I’ll probably discover more errors. It’s tough, you know, to have things to say, but, because you are not wrapping them in the correct form, your message doesn’t get anywhere.. it just floats somewhere in a limbo.. I’m proud of what I learned so far nonetheless, because I’m conscious I did it all alone, I had zero classes of English in school and I couldn’t stress this enough.

I’ve noticed people bragging with proficiency certificates, receiving compliments from others, although having beginner spelling mistakes in the same paragraph. Yes, it’s hard. Yet it makes me more empathetic, while understanding that the world is not a fair place. Competency is not always the decisive factor in one’s success, also attitude and likability play star roles. Now I wonder if anyone in their right mind would choose to make mistakes on purpose and why.

I think in English most of my day, my sentences are not made of raw words, they are made of expressions and phrases, so, sometimes it’s difficult to build something from scratch. And this anxiety that, whoever reads them, might find countless mistakes, but doesn’t give even that little amount of energy to point out the wrong… it makes one feel completely worthless sometimes. I guess, yeah, we should always cherish the people who dare to show us our mistakes… especially in this so “politically correct” era we’re living now.

I have a house with an infinite number of rooms. It is always in the same place. I go there each time I want to be alone with myself, I go from one room to another, pass through 10-12 rooms until I find one and I lock myself inside, knowing that nobody can ever find me there. And then I start searching through the drawers curious what my subconscious is able to create. It’s amazing. Knowing that you are dreaming, that no matter what you find and what you do in that room is not real, it has no effect when you’ve woken up, yet the memory remains.

Last time I dreamt this, I found myself in a hallway, with the door from the room I just exited and another 4 other doors all marked bathrooms. A bit weird..

Last night I dreamt something troubling. Something bad that happened to me in real life, but it didn’t affect me that much then, as it did now when I was dreaming it. Maybe because I was hoping that there are still plenty of chances for it to happen again, in the right way this time. Yet, with each month that passes I’m burying the disappointment deeper and deeper in my subconscious. I mean, what do I win by complaining about it? Nobody can/wants to/has to help me. Only time. Who knows.. someday… through a movie.

I’m not living the life I want. Probably because I grew up, because I learned that living on this planet comes with making sacrifices. Ohhh… and I’m still not doing anything compared to others. Take vegetarians for example.

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