Example: I tried reading one of the Artemis Fowl books this morning, a series I (thought I) love(d). After three chapters, I had to put it down -- it just didn't interest me anymore. What am I reading now instead?
The Young Mind: An Essential Guide to Mental Health for Young Adults, Parents and Teachers
by Professor Sue Bailey and Dr. Mike Shooter
Got my dad to get it for me at the MPH sale today for 20% off. Every RM100 spent was an RM5 voucher from the bookshop. Anyway, I'm halfway through it, and it's interesting, even the parenting part. You take a step back and look at everything objectively, and you'll be able to draw parallels between your life and stuff in the book, both positive and negative. Maybe draw parallels between the book and the lives of people you know too, from what you've observed. It's funny how classic signs of a mental illness can be waved off as idiosyncrasies of a person by those who are not in the know.
ANYWAY. That was not that point of this post. Good to know my tendency to ramble has not left me along with my former reading tastes.
(Creepy pic from Soft District.)
I don't know. It's like this mental shift that I'd never realised had been going on happened. Even the way I blog has changed! Take a look at this, a typical post on the old blog. It's open and raw, it's honest. It makes me vulnerable to people's scrutiny and criticism; that's how I look at it now, anyway, and I can't bring myself to do that now. I used to blog about me. It was my blog, and I blogged about my thoughts and feelings and experiences and whatever random crap I wanted.
Now, though it's still about me (more or less), I blog about other things too. Outside things, events. News. Things that don't even involve me. I've come to see my blog as a channel to air my views rather than a place to rant about everyday things. It's a good thing, yes, but I do miss expressing myself freely the way I used to. I don't do that anymore; I barely even write in my journal anymore, which I used to treasure so much.
(From Archives of Ontario.)
I guess, you know, this is expressing myself, but it feels so...restrained. I'm not just letting it all out like before. It isn't the same.
I'm slowly, slowly turning into an adult and it scares me. Quite a bit. I admire and envy those who grow up with bits of childhood still clinging to them, because it's they who manage to somehow find beauty and wonder in everything. Idealism and optimism and naivety -- the 'trinity' -- I want those back. Right now, I think I'm more than a little lost in the synapse between childhood and adulthood, and it's a strange, unsettling place to be. I don't like it here.
From I Wrote This For You:
This isn't me missing you. This is me missing the me I used to be.This isn't me.
But is it..?
Everybody's changing and I don't feel the same.