Tag: ideas

Posted in Past

A fragment that failed its’ purpose

Posted on by palebluefragment

This piece of metal (image removed) is fragment of a massive explosion that landed on my room’s balcony in 2013. I was laying on my bed next to a wall-sized glass door. I always sat there and let my body get soaked in the subtle sunlight, as I watched the clouds moving in the sky in a swaying rythme. I would lay on my back and imagine as if gravity is reversed and the blue sky is my ground; a thought I was often amused by. I felt so lucky being able to watch the sky from my own bed and more clearly and vividly, from my balcony. The sky might’ve been at some point the most exciting thing in that lifeless town I called Home.

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Posted in Thoughts

Disconnected

Posted on by palebluefragment

Speaking last. Speaking least. Speaking loud. Words won’t come out. Saying too much. Writing more. Writing less. Wanting perfection that doesn’t exist. Is she my friend? Looking above. Clouds touching. Clouds dissipating into clear blue sky. Wanting perfection. Seeking perfection. Unattainable. I won’t be happy. I am happy. Sink within myself. Reject tenderly. Accept the average.

Posted in Thoughts

Defying anguish

Posted on by palebluefragment

Life is full of tragedies. If you don’t see this then you don’t see the world as it truly is. I think being positive can help us rationalize things that are otherwise perceived as nonsensical and make us otherwise feel like we’re victims of the circumstances. While this particular thought is not entirely wrong as many people are living a reality that forces them to be victims of their circumstances. However, thinking of ourselves as helpless victims as a general way of explaining bad occurrences not only forces us to surrender to obstacles presented our way but also deprives us from the capacity of having power over our destiny. This leads to being ultimately unable to process grief in a healthy way.

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Posted in Thoughts

Academic uncertainties

Posted on by palebluefragment

Sometimes my anxiety feels light and manageable, other times it feels like a more serious troubling issue. I’m not ashamed or worried to talk about it. People take the difficulties you project in a conversation lightly as long as you look and function like a normal person. Maybe developing anxiety is an outcome of being a university student. You need to sacrifice part of yourself to gain something. I’m not selfish. I don’t think there’s a lesson to learn here. Maybe we’re all living different versions of the same battle, or whatever you want to call it. I’ve been choosing to dissociate my thoughts from my feelings. This mechanism helps me to somehow deal with daily tasks that require a high level of focus.

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Posted in Stories

Ketchup Festival

Posted on by palebluefragment

September 5th 2018

I was sitting in the metro with a childhood friend from school and we were discussing the book Mad Shadows by Marie-Claire. I looked to the seat in front of me and saw that my French professor was sitting next to Vincent Van Gogh. I was not surprised because I thought that Vincent was just one of us. My teacher offered to gift me the original book that we were discussing earlier but I refused. I rented books and didn’t like accumulating them. Then I started noticing that Vincent’s ears were perfectly normal and he started looking more angel-like, as if he was taken right out a painting. The metro stopped in the middle of nowhere, doors wide opened and there were trampolines everywhere. Everyone was screaming “ketchup” so I told my friend, teacher, and Vincent not to worry cause it’s the Ketchup festival! We stepped outside of the metro where everyone seemed exceptionally happy! They looked loud but it sounded silent, as if someone put the volume on “mute”. A beautiful man with a nose piercing told me that he loved me and I told him that he’s an asshole because I knew him. I accepted his words anyway. Then we all went to a theatre that had round tables instead of theatre seats. We sat down and ate tuna with lemons.

Posted in Stories

Eight hours of void

Posted on by palebluefragment

On May the 7th, at 4 pm and after a long debate, my brother and I decided to turn our phones off, swap them, and hide them until the next morning. This meant that I had eight hours to kill. The first hour was the hardest. I was thinking about checking my online order, writing a blog, and aimlessly scrolling through Instagram. The hour after, I made myself a cup of tea and searched around the room looking for something productive to do. I found a magazine laying on my desk. It’s been there for months. I got two issues because I was intrigued by the title and the cover and also impressed by the dark mediocre-quality papers. You can tell they’re recycled. I opened it to realize it’s a collection of short stories, poems, and photographs. I read the first three stories. I thought to myself “I wish I had read English books earlier in my life”. “How will I ever be a good writer?” “I must read more often”. “My vocabulary range is so limited”. Then I reminded myself that I should never use yesterday as an excuse. I tidied my room. It’s so satisfying to make my material possessions lesser and lesser every day. Except for clothes, I always need clothes. I talked to my mother about my room in our hometown and what I want to pack from it when I’m able to travel back. “I hope a mortar doesn’t catch it before I do” I said. I sat on the balcony, ate a big bowl of ice cream. I couldn’t listen to music without my phone so I hummed the lyrics. I wrote a list of my dreams and all the things I want to achieve. I folded the paper two times then teared it into pieces. Made sure it was impossible to be assembled by anyone again. No one should ever know my late evening thoughts. I took a shower. I felt light as spring and I felt soft. I fell asleep around midnight and I had wonderful dreams. I kept closing my eyes in the morning trying to get myself back to sleep, to save as much dreams in my memory as I can. I woke up around nine, got my phone back, turned it on. I put it on the desk and sat in my bed for a while. It was calm and my head was clear. I picked my phone up, checked my online order, wrote a blog, and aimlessly scrolled through Instagram.