Back from the Dead

Yo,
what's up internet?
Missed me? Missed us? The blog that no one cares about?
Oh, I'm sorry. One person has been reading this for the past two years, when nothing has been posted. What a loyal soul.

Things have changed. Probably for the other two as well, but for me, the German guy of the group, things have definitely changed.
Don't mind me going a bit emotional on this, but right now, this period of my life, things are not going that well.
Who am I kidding? Getting almost straight A's in university. That's awesome! No longer being in Germany, but studying in Canada. That's awesome!

What seems to be the problem with me then? That unsettling feeling that I am doing bad on every test I write and yet manage to do well. A "B" does not bother me when it is presented in front of me, but the thought of it just downright kills me.

Perfectionism is a pretty stupid thing to have. I wrote an essay about it. The night before it was due. I only got about two hours of sleep that night.

Rambling. That's what blogs are good for.

Love. School. And all of those crazy things.

And sometimes video games. Playing Guilty Gear X2 Accent Core. Have a beautiful time!

Funny? No. I don't even want to prove read this, so don't mind typos and fallacies.
I haven't really downloaded any new music in the past few years, and yet, the stuff I still listen to makes me feel better whenever I do listen to it.
I wish I could find the strength to do math and go into the Science program, and not the Arts program of Psychology. I want to work with music, therapy - all of those things - those things that seem to come natural to me and make me happy (sometimes).

Gaming goes well, love bothers me, and I still have to tell someone that I made a trip across an entire ocean to study... and be with that certain someone. Scared. Probably.

Canada is great. It allowed me to get in sync with myself a bit more. A bit. I am doing shit by myself now. Living, cooking, cleaning, -studying- again. I should feel great about these things. Especially because I'm getting those good grades now. I used to be used to C's and D's. Now it's A's and occasionally B's. And yet I don't stop there. I want to push myself further.

And I have 'connected with society', by having joined farcebook. I feel so dirty, but it is a great tool of staying in contact with people from Germany, or other people that do not get on messengers anymore or answer e-mails frequently. Goddamn it. I have joined the tool of society that makes us regurgitate mindless phrases that aren't our own and post about what we have done or what we want to do. Fucking pick up the phone or write an e-mail. I'm sick of these "no one will miss me, when I'm dead" people.

But it's not that we can fight it anymore. I'm coming more and more to realize that some things in this world are just the way they are supposed to be. And it's our own fault. Look at it. I'm not even writing this in a diary. This might be for two simple reasons: a) I want to share my own thoughts with others (despite the fact that no one reads this, at some point in time, some person comes across this and will think about it, think about the mistakes that have been made, think about the way they're living their lives, and then realize that they've got out of touch with reality and the real people in their lives.) and b) I'm saving my hand-writing for my studying.

So, what are the problems?

Reluctance to cope with problems.
Yeah, fucking shit. I am writing about these things. This is somehow coping with things, but it took me so long to actually get started on it. Talking with people about problems is hard, because we tend to believe that "no one cares." Why? "Hey, how are you?" Inane. You don't care about it. If you cared about it, you'd take the time to stop in motion, continue to talk, and accept something other than "Fine/Good/Awesome/Other deviations of being in a good mood."
I want to listen to your problems. You can trust me for this period of time. I want you to feel that you are being understood by someone. I want to help you.
But not - we are not used to that. People do not listen anymore. Unless it is about them. Talk about something good in our lives, not theirs. Screw that.
And therefore, we hesitate, swallow our pride and let it accumulate inside of us, until it eats us up.

Social age. What the fuck happened to us? Elbow-society. Expectations. Get that car. You got a child. Get another car. Get that good job, that wife, that house, that yacht - you need to have them to be a good human being. And pay your taxes.
Do well in school. Only if you do well in school you can be loved, liked and appreciated by others. That's how it goes. And they get us, too.
Then you want to do better. And you want to get those things. That's what we're being told.
Wait, no. Al Bundy is having a miserable life. I can laugh at that and feel better about my own misery. Shifty eyes. Stop and think about your life.

Stop and help that lady. Stop and talk with that person next to you who seems down (unless they seem like they carry at least one knife). Stop. Movement is everything. Stop. Yes. Movement is good. Moving backward, forward. Just stopping is bad. Is it?

Stopping is a part of motion as well. It helps us to have some time for ourselves. We have to get back to ourselves and be a little bit more egotistical. Thinking about ourselves seems to be a dead end in this argument. Or explanation. But no.

What do we really want? Do we want to climb the highest of all career ladders and have others hail to our throne? American Psycho style, that is. Freaking out at someone having a better business card than we do. Hell yeah, that's the life.
Do we want to comply, conform?
Sure, some of us want to, because that takes less effort than unplugging the phone, turning the mobile and the laptop off. Then we look at them, sitting in their small, self-made prisons, with subtle, life-wrecking torture mechanisms, while we take a nice stroll out in the night.
Breathing that fresh, crisp air, while the moon shines upon us and tells us that there were different times to all of this.

Some day, friends, we shall become the human race again. There are so few of us who want to make a change in this world. People who sincerely care about others. People who are not recognized for what they do, because kindness is still mistaken as weakness.

I'm totally not making a point here, and you know why? Because I blame myself for letting it come this far. Just say it is because I'm very emotional and in love. That allows my argument to be not credible at all.

If you excuse me, I have to entertain myself with something else than making my misery public, and being a jack ass by doing so (because I should go outside and do something instead).