Home sweet home

Home sweet home.

Home sweet ephemeral home. For a couple months.

But at least it's home. 

It's a small room, twenty meters square, with an attached bathroom. No shared kitchen in the building. I had to buy myself a microwave and might even go as far as to buy a top refrigerator because I love ice cream and I'd love to have it. But it's not entirely necessary I find. A microwave is way enough for me. I bought also an iron, a fan (but need a screwdriver for a tiny screw, my pocket knife won't help), brought my kettle from mom's place… I've got pretty much everything I need to feel at home. I even got a little Bluetooth speaker from IKEA and I love it. Takes no space, allows for better music quality.

But I have no internet. That's the one shitty thing here. This post you're reading, I've drafted it on Notepad, and I use my phone as a hotspot to post or check stuff. There's no wifi here, the company broke the contract with the institution that is renting me this room.

That said… I'd rather live in this tiny ass room with no kitchen and no internet than be at my dad's place any day. It's both sad and impressive. Sad because no daughter should hate or even fear her father this much. Impressive because a kitchen is a modern comfort many would take for granted nowadays. But hey, I'm proving myself, once again, how I don't really need all that much to survive properly. The mess will be open during the week. 

Tomorrow I'm getting some of my stuff back at my dad's. I'll leave most of it, honestly. I'll take my winter clothes, whatever I had before coming, my succulent snail plushie (because I love it), probably my Pusheen too. My old knitted kitten, even if it was a gift from him when I was eight and it has lost its meaning, I'm not throwing it away. My eight-year-old self would be heartbroken, even as she had no idea how truly terrible her preferred parent was as a human being. I'll take my crystals, my mouse's ashes, my ship pictures… my art supplies… all of that. But I will leave, for example, my Art Nouveau prints. Or my vines. I'll replace them. They remind me too much of that room I had… and of the life I lived there.

I did not come across Hopoe today. Yeah, think I'll call her Hopoe. It's so weird to think she's this close to me now… like, we're just a corridor and a staircase away from each other. I don't know how she's going to react, quite frankly. We haven't talked in six months. I'm not going to go and knock on her door even as I'm very tempted to at least check that my guess was right about where her room is. Feels kinda creepy to me. I don't like the idea. No, I'll see her soon anyway. When I'll greet the team, or incidentally, one morning, or evening. It will happen. And perhaps today wasn't the best day for it to happen given how run-down I am, and how much I had to do. 

Also. Well. Learned that I did not pass the pro exam. 9/20, 11/20. I'm not receivable for the oral part. I guess I should've known. I've been academically dead since middle school. I've been a disappointment to teachers since that age. In high school, I just did not care anymore. I just wanted a girlfriend, and friends. I didn't care for grades, or "my future", not that I even saw one for myself anyway: I thought I'd be dead by 18, 20, 25. Maybe you, reader, can relate to having been unable to project yourself in the future because you couldn't imagine you'd even be alive in the first place. How many of us who feel this way are out there?... one is already one too many.

But I knew. I knew this wouldn't be it. I never quite walk confidently in an exam room. I always know I'm going to be a loser. That in spite of my best efforts, I will only get a passing grade at most. I mean, I barely got my high school degree. I wasn't attending school for half of the year, so it's kind of a miracle I even got it. I try my hardest to try and apply the "methodology" they are so fond of, but somehow I fail at it. Maybe I truly am autistic, ADHD, or both. Not just gifted. But if I were to learn I truly am "disordered"... I would not stand it. I would offer to end it right there. 

Why? Because it would mean that first, my way of being is pathological, or at least abnormal. It's not just that I happen to be a certain way and am otherwise an entirely normal human being, just with your regular variation like, for example, the fact I'm a lesbian, or that I tend to like some foods that are "acquired tastes". 

I spent so much time, I shed so much blood, sweat and tears trying to unlearn this belief that I'm inherently defective, that this would just be the proof that I was deluding myself. That I was lying to myself. 

Delusion -> insanity. And insanity? This is my single worst fear. Yeah, bigger than plastic bags, vomiting, heights, high speeds, deep water, hornets. Insanity takes away your autonomy forever. If you cannot trust yourself, you are at the mercy of all of those who will abuse their power on you. You have no self, no sovereignty, you are basically… property. Something to manage and deal with. 

Second. If I'm autistic, ADHD, or both, I need "support". Perhaps "substantial support". I can never be a human being that "doesn't need support". I'll be infantilized. Forever. Again, throwing into the trash all the efforts I've made to try and be a person on my own. Not be so scared of the world, not depend on somebody, live life on my own terms. 

If I turn out to have one of those labels, someone will have decided for me, again. Yet again. And I cannot tolerate this anymore, to have things decided for me. Of course it doesn't extend to things like my room attribution or whatever. It's not to THAT degree. But deciding who I am, what I am, and what "support" I need? Adults decide for children. And I've given so much of myself to try and not be a child anymore that I cannot tolerate that my efforts may be all in vain. 

This is also another hangup I have with therapy and psychiatry: they literally decide what's "wrong" (not even always truly wrong! sometimes it makes sense considering your history) based on what some people have written into a manual. It used to be a thing to consider lobotomies normal when what they do is literally kill a person, leaving them incontinent and a shell of their former selves, it used to be a thing to give electroconvulsive therapy to gay people to try and make them straight, and some practices and "disorders" of today will be looked at like those kinds of horrors in the future. 

But alas. I live in the present. And I'm dead convinced that nobody has the right to decide what happens to MY life. I could end up committing crimes if this keeps happening. Crimes of anger, of injustice. Then I'd be put in prison, where they break criminals even more. I guess you can never quite win in life, can you? Unless you're rich and from a family that is reputed. But for us little tetuanui like they say in Tahiti… the commoners, the masses, the little people with just their story, their family and not a ton of money, that's a whole other story.

Anyway. I'm not going to stay up much longer. Not only cause I'm tired as fuck, but also because the lack of internet is giving me a lack of incentive to stay up for too long. My evening tea is ready. I might even make myself a hot water bottle because this works wonders to wind me down. 

Later.

Hopefully later too, Hopoe. 

Army dreamers

 

"B.F.P.O....

...army dreamers...

...mammy's hero..."

Our little army boy

Is coming home from B.F.P.O.

I've a bunch of purple flowers

To decorate a mammy's hero.

Mourning in the aerodrome,

The weather warmer, he is colder.

Four men in uniform

To carry home my little soldier.

"What could he do?

Should have been a rock star."

But he didn't have the money for a guitar.

"What could he do?

Should have been a politician."

But he never had a proper education.

"What could he do?

Should have been a father."

But he never even made it to his twenties.

What a waste --

Army dreamers.

Oh what a waste of

Army dreamers...

Yesterday, on the way, I broke down in tears listening to this song. 250km the day prior, 185 that day: I had spent three hours with few pauses in-between, driving. I went on the highway but it fucked with my nervous system so badly I had to take the side roads. Not a bad thing, I like them, specifically national roads which are my favourite to drive on, and on which I tend to accidentally speed a little. 

I was stopped 75km away from my destination. Was too tired to continue for a while. I phoned my advisor to let her know that despite trying with all my might to get there in time, I couldn't make it to the appointment. Not long after, I was overcome by this feeling of tiredness, feeling my shoulders and back still as rock-hard as usual. I do stop noticing them every now and then. But it doesn't change that they are never relaxed.

It hit me right after that I had been living in a war zone. I was feeling just like someone who lived through repeated, unpredictable bombings, the feeling you may die at any moment, that you're never safe no matter how hard you try.

I put on this song. When I left that last city, it was playing. The tears in my eyes were almost preventing me from seeing well. The weather was warm, but I was colder. A beautiful sun. Should've been a happy day. But I was returning to the place where I died. In my mind's eye, I saw myself standing over a coffin, and I knew who was inside. It was me. My younger self that had not made it. A parallel version of me that did not escape and probably hung herself between the day of the move, or perhaps even before, and today. Or perhaps my younger self, the one who actually moved to dad's when she was sixteen, and probably degraded tremendously there. Either way, it was me inside that coffin, and I did not have to open it to understand.

It's not my mammy mourning in this song. It's myself, mourning the little soldier I was. Aka's heroine. And I still am. I guess I went up quite a few ranks, but the war never ended for me. Ever. I don't know if it ever will. 

What could I do? At the time I had nothing. I was just a teenage girl, then a 20-something that had been so burned out and traumatized. Should've been a straight A student: but I never had the bandwidth because I was carrying myself all alone. Should've entered the military: but I was always too sensitive and everyone always told me I was too weak for doing so. Should've been a brilliant adult, but I never had the chance to truly be young. 

It's such a strange kind of grief to grieve for all those parts of you lost to time, to violence, to loneliness in the face of events that would have broken anyone else. It never stops. It's always with you. It's a strange kind of grief to just feel like your life started too early, skipped a step because it had to, and now you're left here, incomplete, forever missing a crucial part of you and people may be able to sense it. That you're damaged goods, irreparably so, and that you're a lifer: sentenced to run a lifetime on a broken leg that is impossible to heal. Oh yes. I'm serving a life sentence. In every sense of the word. All I can do is try and make it a little less of an endurance test. 

Oh what a waste of army dreamers...

yeah. I feel like I'm one of those army dreamers.

The night before the drive

You know shit was serious somewhere you've been when hitting the road to drive back there and stay for a couple of months due to a job is making you feel anxious. 

You know shit is serious when you don't want to leave your mom. Yeah. Silly right? I don't want to leave her behind. I feel like a child. My cats, too, I don't want to leave them, especially my orange. Not another time. Plus they're old and despite the fact they're in relative good health for their age (my grey has CKD but handles it really well considering he was diagnosed five years ago, my orange is fat and might be developing some issues himself)... I never quite know if it's the last time I see them.

You know shit was serious with your dad when the idea of going back there even once to fetch your stuff makes you feel absolutely terrified. I know it's once. I'm not going to step into his house a single next time again. But this is making me feel so godawful. My heart is racing. 

There are people I love there. There's the one I should refer to as Hopoe (or Hina? I'll have to see because both are fitting nicknames to anonymize her on here, as Hopoe is Hi'iaka's aikāne and Hina is a goddess too...). The city itself was fairly neutral to me. I still don't give much of a crap about it and I will certainly not miss it when I'm gone. 

But oh God. I feel such a surge of... anxiety. I almost want to cry. Why is it that the minute I find my equilibrium, I need to GTFO or just... move.

I know it's going to be alright. I'll have my own space there. Truly mine. My home in a sense. Nobody will, non-exhaustive list here mind you:

• tell me that I should've waited for them to have dinner, nevermind the simple fact that by the time I would get home I would've spent easily 7 hours without eating, and that said person often comes home two hours later;
• guilt-trip me for my reactions when I understandably get angry, cry, or run away when I've almost been hit;
• shit me for locking myself into my room, because it's "not very pleasant for the rest of the household";
• decide when I clean my bathroom, especially since in this place there will be a cleaning lady;
• scream for daddy in the middle of the night, either waking me up or preventing me from falling asleep in the first place because they can't just fucking get themselves to get up and go see him. (not really my little sisters' fault though, but it was hard on me)
• move a rain collector under my windows at 11pm when I'm desperately trying to fall asleep in summer, then say "oh I didn't have time" when they spent the whole fucking evening watching Netflix;
• tell me to take expired medication to knock my ass into sleep otherwise I will be "too tired";
• decide when I eat, and force me to eat greasy shit that will make my stomach react, at 8pm when I have to be in bed by 10 to try and at least get a minimum of eight hours, and have me still be up at 1:30am with a racing heart;
• throw five fucking demands at me in the same evening, or tell me to vacuum clean the upstairs floor when I haven't even been up for half an hour;
• police my language and tell me swearing isn't good in a young lady's mouth;
• argue in circles about something completely dumb until I snap;
• be standing there, or just radiating anxious energy, with a face whose tense expression sends me into fight-or-flight just thinking about it;
• hit the dog and then say it's a "pack leader" thing and that "dogs do worse to each other in the wild", there won't even be any dog in the first place;
• and others.

I'll have a chance to reset. To truly be in my own rhythm. But a part of me is concerned I can't take care of myself. Or that I'll end up in such a spiral or decompensate so hard my work is going to suffer. I mean, I did crash out like crazy when I was 17, burned out from years of trauma, and desperate to get friends and a girlfriend because I had been isolating for a long time. But I'm no longer 17. I'm almost a decade older, and I know now is not the time for tomfoolery. I have a festival planned, I have stuff to experience... loose ends to tie up. People to see again.

I shouldn't put so much pressure on myself, I know. But fuck. I want to cry thinking about all of this. It may just be like when I drove 500km south... it's daunting when you're about to do it, but once you're out on the other side, it's okay.

Fuck. I just wish I didn't have to stand all this all alone. As usual. Alone. I can't have someone by my side to do this, and I wish I had. It's always that same thing, people are always unavailable due to distance, logistics, or just because I don't consider them close enough, I think they probably think the same, and I am afraid that they will refuse because understandably, I'm not anywhere near... important enough for them, and they have their own life, I mean, they don't need me. Especially since I tend to only ask for help or connection when I'm not doing well. If I'm starting to get vocal, it's not exactly a good sign coming from me, and on top of that... by the time I get to that point, it's already reaching a critical point of pressure. 

I'm proud of myself after the fact, but it's so heavy, heavy. I have to contain it to bother no one. Cry alone. Bite the bullet, break my teeth on it, and still get there. Nobody really talks about how fucking terrible it feels to be the strong one, especially if you're relatively stoic. I do complain. I do cry. I used to keep a completely straight face. I can't do this anymore, and that's a good thing. I'd rather cry the whole time and still do it than have to stop midway or crash because I decided to white-knuckle through shit and go over my limits in a way that's dangerous.

I just hope this isn't my last drive. Should be fine, but you never know. You take your car, you roll a handful of die. If they happen to make specific combinations... you're either in trouble, or done for.

Let's hope the Devil has nothing in store for me.

(Hopoe, I bet you feel that way too. You said it yourself, you have no one and have to cope on your own. 

If you can let me in and lower your armour for a little bit... could we just cope together? I'm not talking, you know. Relying too much on each other. But I mean, just.. being there. To listen, to be by each other's side. Me coping with your health struggles, you helping me cope with mine.

Anyway. I'll see you at the end of the week. Same building, I reckon we're on the same floor too. You don't need to jump into my arms, just don't ignore me and don't be stone cold like you were six months ago.

You've had your own challenges during those months, and I can tell. I just want to tell you that you're doing a good job regardless.

See you later.)

Insomnia

 All wake and no sleep truly makes Hi'iaka a dull girl. But also... tense.

I do sleep better at my mom's place... but lately, it's been worse. I'm soon going back to the city my father lives in, though I will NOT live at his place. I'll start a two month contract, will live on-site. It's something I know how to do but in a service I don't know with people I don't know, or have only seen a few times. I'll see the woman I love, again, after six months without talking. That's not the worse part at all. It's just that... I wonder if I'll be any up to it. Like if I won't be completely sleepless, fuck shit up, ramp up absenteeism... it scares me so bad, not gonna lie. I will not have my mom to comfort me, either. Nor my cats. I will be all alone to deal with that. And it's going to be summer so I can forget about hot water bottles, aka one of the only non-chemical things that actually get my stress levels down.

It's a very very good thing I will live on site, won't have to think about commuting and all of that. I'll be able to get up slightly later. Have more time to do my makeup (because yes, I do wear makeup, not an Instagram-face type of makeup, but it still takes a bit to do something that looks nice), won't have to drink my tea when it's still piping hot and burning my throat. 

But lately, my insomnia's been worse. I literally could not relax last night. My back was so tense I could not get light sleep. 2:30, then 3 rolls around. I cry, like I do most of those nights lately. I didn't want to take a Xanax, I hadn't done so in a few days as I don't want to be too reliant on it and I've taken more than half the box in a month and a half of having it prescribed... but it was the only thing that really got me relaxing enough.

I can sleep sometimes, without anything. No melatonin, no meds. I've recently had two nights like that where I was relaxed enough, and slept. It's probably not so much the sleep mechanism, or the ability to sleep that is impaired in me. If I relax enough, I can totally drift off. 

No. It's the constant tension. It's the constant feeling that my shoulders and back are rock-hard. That I cannot relax. That I'm always on the lookout for... for what? It's the hypervigilance. The doctor I saw after I had a vomiting episode from stress when I left my dad's place (three days before I drove away) told me I had reactional depression + hypervigilance, anxiety. It's the feeling that I may not escape psychiatry even though I know damn fucking well what's wrong with me and it's not an inherent problem. It's all this stress. All of this pressure that is on me. That is on everyone. It's just that I have been sensitized by years of being under constant stress, of having to carry it all alone.

I recall seeing that it's not uncommon to get worse after you leave a toxic environment, because your body can afford to crash. I'll be damned... it looks like things never quite get easy, do they. The only hope I have here, in a not-so-tired way at the moment... is that eventually, I will settle. That my body will realize it's no longer in danger. That I'm not going to be taken out of my light sleep by a loud child's call for dad, that I won't have to lock my door to feel safe, that I will not have to be rested lest I want to break down and cry or get angry because everything around me feels so stressful and charged (and on top of that, I will be blamed for my reaction, nevermind that oftentimes I was straight up PUSHED to my limits by circular arguments or being straight up dismissed or ignored), that I will sleep within half an hour after my head hits the pillow and not toss and turn for hours, yawning but not being able to drop off a single bit, hear the birds outside (fuck you, birds!), see the sun come up, that I will not worry about being unable to drive safely, that I will be able to do my "homework" for my professional advisor... that I will be able to pass exams and not be half-not there.

May this stop one day for me. I've considered euthanasia in my worst moments. What has carried me through a whole thirteen years without a single suicide attempt (as I've lived with a death wish since the age of twelve, and only actually made a proper attempt almost fourteen years later) was that... sort of hope. That sort of waiting. You know, when you go to see fireworks and it's time but it hasn't started... and you don't want to leave before the fireworks. That is exactly what has kept me alive the whole time. That sense that I don't want to miss out on the moment things finally turn around. Nearly did. But I'm still here, writing this blog. May one day things get peaceful for me, finally. Cutting this poor excuse of a human being off is the best thing I could do for myself. It's sad that I have to carry his genes, his face as I look structurally more similar to him, and that I'll always have this worry, in the depths of my being, that I carry some sort of vice that is only waiting for the right moment to come out and prove that genes don't lie, that I was born vicious, broken, and manipulative. 

But the fallout, man, the fallout. When will it all end. If it will, that is. At times I'm worried I'm waiting on an illusion. And I'll be on my deathbed at ninety, perhaps even older than that, wondering why I even remained here when I could have ended it all sooner. Or perhaps, opposed to that, happy that I did not and got to live some truly golden years.

When will Hi'iaka be a bright girl again, as opposed to dull? 

Polluted interwebs

I wish everything wasn't online. Strange to say for a girl my age who's been pretty much raised on the internet. I actually have been on it since I was round 8 years old, but my usage ramped up after I turned 12, and I spent my whole teens and early to mid 20s on it. Interacting with the world at large through the Internet. Its golden age has long passed for sure. Now it has entered the age of inescapable hellscape. 

It's full of shit. The old Internet was great. You could just exist online. You could be as zany, as politically incorrect, as politically correct, as good or bad or creative or uncreative or whatever else as you wanted, it was good. There was a spot for you. There was no endless analysis of relationships and therapy speak at every fucking corner. There was no endless advertising, no endless corporatization, no monetization BS, no sanitized search results designed to push only the five biggest platforms and have everything else fall into obscurity. No pointless drama, or hardly. People were just here. I think this is something that we all cruelly lack in life: a space to just be. And like everything good, it ended up being taken away. Because we can't have nice things.

I was addicted to the web before it was cool. Back when I was 11-12 I had discovered memes and people didn't get what I was all about. They had no idea what Nyan Cat was. Or what This is Sparta was, or the Youtube Poops with Link and King Harkinian were. They weren't on their laptop 24/7 researching and talking and messing around like I was. 

Then 2016 ish rolled around and suddenly everyone knew what memes were. 2019, 2020. Everyone became terminally online thanks to Covid. Internet addiction wasn't so much really a thing anymore as it was an effect of the times (and perhaps it is not so much an addiction for me as it is... simply that it was my backdoor when I was younger, and I just ended up adapting to whatever I had, which was this very tool). Meanwhile, I was already feeling like maybe it would be good to return to more analog things. I noodled around with Neocities, Ichi.city and the likes in 2022 and 2023. 

2025, I make my identity of Hi'iaka and my Dreamwidth blog (which I've deleted after moving all my posts to this one). Nobody really blogs anymore. It's all lonely really. But I do hope that just like I've seen it time and time again, I'm just early in the game. Whether it's in fashion (if I'm looking for a specific piece, you can be sure it's going to be in style the next year or in a couple years), or in behaviours... 

But anyway, back to the original topic. You open the internet and you see a dominant thought. You see the endless hyper-individualistic bullshit that is touted by self-help books and therapists alike. Therapists which mind you are NOT scientists and which discipline evolves with the trends of time, so I've concluded that for the most part it's complete poppycock. 

It DOES have some beneficial things in it, like learning to trust yourself, helping with accepting your past, raising your self-confidence, not getting walked all over by people, but I find that even by practicioners themselves, it's wildly oversimplified, applied to situations where more nuance would be better, and the chase for the golden Grail of a "healthy" relationship leads to constant overanalysis and almost a sort of "relationship orthorexia". I swear. Everything is rules, red flags, green flags, as if people can't decide for themselves? As if they need a guide for every single move they make? Can't trust their goddamn common sense and human intuition? Oh wait.

Wait.

That sounds oddly like religion. I mean, you go tell everything you wouldn't tell to a person who is supposedly above you by some sort of power (either God or... academics), they give you advice you must follow otherwise you are a bad follower or you "don't want to do the work"... you either get heaven (a perfect life) or go to hell with all the sinners who won't improve themselves. 

Crazy how religion permeates literally everything? 

This aside, I'm starting to consider hanging out on IRC channels. But also... I find myself wishing computers were not so stimulating. Because that is also a big part as to why we are pretty much all screen addicts now. Those things are built to make you addicted. Good job, engineers, powers that be. You managed to fulfil your goal. A society of docile, distracted humans who massively look away and would rather numb out than feel the gravity of things.

I probably am part of them, in my own way.

Yeah.

Anyway. I'm tired. Good night, internet.

I don't give a shit about "experiences"

My ex told me one day, at the beginning of our relationship, "you're young, I want you to have your own experiences". I felt like I was being punched in the face. First, because she had slept around a lot before me after her marriage fell apart in her early 20s. Second, because I've always been a devoted partner. Had I had the chance, I would've got engaged at 16 to the one I loved at the time, and married at 17. I was always the type of person to imagine my whole life with a single person: the thing is, the times and the way people do love has not given me that chance. I'm literally always expecting to be cheated on or dumped because it seems so commonplace today to just throw away your partner whenever they become an inconvenience.

But again, I'm not against divorcing or breaking up for valid reasons like cheating or abuse or just irreconcilable differences. The latter being... strange because those are things you try to find out before you actually tie the knot. Digression over.

I never quite saw the appeal of "having experiences". I never cared much for sleeping around. To me, you only cross this threshold if you're genuinely into the person and you plan on being with them at least for a good while. I've never been interested in casual dating, either: to date casually and not seriously is a heresy to me. Why give your heart to a person if it's not for them to keep it? What's the value of "fun" if it's meaningless? 

Because people do talk about how "fun" dating is. How "fun" sex is. Yeah, I guess it is. But it's meaningless if there's nothing substantial coming out of it. It's like eating fast food: it tastes very good, yeah. But nutritionally? Void. Harmful even.

It's not even just about dating, it's about experiences in general. When I was in my late teens, I went to travel three times with a girl a few years older who ended up being abusive. Everyone in their 20s wanted to travel, take a Ryanair flight and spend a few days in a foreign country just to take some pics, show off on the 'gram, and then forget it like nothing happened. This is the fast food of travel, the mindless consumption of it. Those people who have a thousand flags in their bio make me feel enraged. How much did you actually did this place? Did you learn the language? Did you actually absorb it, or did you do it just for your retarded bucket list that is most likely based on another person or just the general public's bucket list? Not even truly your own for the most part? 

Everyone seems to want the easy parts of life without the hard work. They want the money. They want the "healthy" relationship that is therapist-approved yet probably does not exist, why? Because to enter in a relationship is to collide with another human being that is not you. Again, not talking about things like abuse, of course this is NOT healthy. But if we keep looking for the "right" person, always swiping and always leaving as soon as there's some friction in fear of "lost time", we may not ever meet said person, ever. The right person does not exist. The perfect partner is a fantasy. And I think many people are too deep into the fantasy.

We live in a world that wants the rewards, only the reward. It only sees transactions, needs, optimization. It does not see the rawness, the messiness, what makes human existence worth living: they want a sanitized version of it that ends up being totally empty. 

And this world will not have my skin. This world will not tell me how to live my life. It will not make me second-guess myself about what I want ever again. It damn nearly succeeded a handful of times, but on every instance of it, I ended up going back to my flow. I realized that I wasn't happy, and on top of that, what I would find would be sub-par. It would destroy me more than help me.

If you're looking for someone to encourage you to live your life and have as little useless "experiences" as you want, this is your sign. What is "living life" anyway? 

Per a libertà

 

You who have been insulted one day for defending your freedom

Stop thinking about those who tore your thoughts, let them go

Stop regretting about your past, you have fought for a better life

Just think that in this world there are those who are dying for freedom

Come with me, give me your hand

We’ll sing, we’ll sing

So that all over the world

May offences against freedom come to an end

Listen to me, dear brother, somewhere away, over there

There are men who stood up but have been locked up for eternity

Without being able to defend their ideas, they have been killed without mercy

They were many proud men and they died for freedom

Come with me, give me your hand

We’ll sing, we’ll sing

So that all over the world

May offences against freedom come to an end

Therefore, I tell you: never stop fighting

We’ll sing for our brothers, forever disconsolate over there

May our voices jump beyond frontiers, not even lead may stop them

To make them hear climbing up to the sky, you must fight, you must fight

Come with me, give me your hand

We’ll sing, we’ll sing

So that all over the world

May offences against freedom come to an end

I promise I'll go back to regular posting soon. It's just that lately... music has made talking about it a whole lot easier. 

Note: I'm not part of any independentism group, nor any political activism, whether it's Corsica's or any other place that is under the rule of a bigger power. I'm just your average Jane. 

But those songs of independence echo my own. They echo what I have been doing for a while, actually: exiting an environment that was keeping me trapped.

I've gone through an impossible amount of things between October/November and now. My entire life changed, and... I may see her again, too. The one I love. 

Things will not stop changing this year, I'm afraid. But is it for the worse or the better?

For once. It may be the for the better. At least Pluto is done sodomizing my Mars and will be leaving Neptune in a while, even if... wait before sir goes for my Uranus, South Node, and the likes...

Like a party in the sky

 

I hope Laika never died...

I hope like I never died

...

I hope like I was alive...

LIKE A PARTY IN THE SKY!