Glorious Summer

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I don't think I've experienced true loneliness in my life. Loneliness, to me, is defined as separation from human interactions and a true devotion to being separated from social connections. I here use "devotion" because it is difficult to remove oneself from a heavy onset of social interactions in the modern age. 

Sitting alone in an empty house that is neither my own nor staying for a long time, I am preoccupied with the idea that I am alone. But I am not--- I am in Berkeley, situated in one of the nation's crime capitals. Three blocks down I will see a man who is combatting the extremities of living. 

I wonder if the majority of my adult life will be accompanied with the concept of being alone. I wonder if there is a day when I accept my fate as an individual, and not an age, a role, an occupation or task, a means to another's ambition. Valueless is the individual now. 

The skies are deeper, the minds sharper. I suppose there is no practical use of my collection of strongly pivotted opinions in my studies, and there is no definitive answer to why I am still accumulating it. In my free time, I answer people who asks me what I do in my free time. 

I write less frequently now, but I am outputting more content. My days are spent recognizing patterns and getting familiarized to them, testing limits to some tolerance levels, feeling external motivations pushed toward me. My upbringing encourages desensitivization of these bypassing feelings, maybe it is why I'm more determined to find out what it feels like. 

Sometimes, I get frustrated that people can not understand what I write. I have never practiced comprehensible writing, but I surely have an insurmountable amount of vigor for writing. This is a vigor I wish to keep forever. 

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