How long have I stopped writing? Writing the way I want to see myself as. Does that even make sense? None of what I write these days matter to me. It doesn’t make me think. It’s too transparent. It’s exactly what it’s supposed to be. That’s it. No room for thought. No nothing.
I forget now what started me writing. Maybe it’s the desire to sound more important that I really am. And that with the use of words, I can be more than what I really am.
I couldn’t sleep again tonight. My upset stomach wouldn’t let me.
Soon enough, I’ll be turning 21. And right now, and right here, I feel like I have nothing to show for it. Maybe it’s because learning the Japanese language isn’t really worthwhile for me. It never has been. For the past several years — back to when I started learning the language — I haven’t really been motivated enough to actually improve. Right now I study. But then that just makes me wonder more than ever: Is the reason behind this drive to study the fact that I have need of this knowledge? Maybe so.
I need the knowledge now because I’m in Japan. But when I go back, it becomes useless to me — you see?
I don’t know what I want in my life. I’ve been racking my brains for an answer since I got here. And I still haven’t gotten one. Stubborn brains.
I’m starting to get sleepy. Maybe I should try reasoning with my tummy that I need to wake up pretty early.