When I was a kid, I thought I was destined for great things. I was born on Christmas Day, exactly one year after they shot Ceausescu, the only ruler of a Communist country to ever be executed. Now, in the same spot, they’re building a shopping mall.
Maybe because I was born when I was born, I don’t really listen to what other people tell me I should do. I never did.
I don’t like authority. I don’t like to follow rules.
I am not afraid of the consequences of not doing what I am told. I am not where I’d like to be in life because I don’t like most people. I have long suspected they don’t like me back.
I am a rebel without a cause, garnering a bit of applause here and there from those who read my stories.
Some days, I do not love myself. Some days, I do. It depends on the day, I guess. We’re all heroes when the planets align just right. Besides, being a hero is overrated. Anyone can be a hero in someone else’s story. It’s the day to day life that wears you out, it’s the boring self-care habits you neglect that slowly ruin you from the inside out.
When I was six I dreamt of moving to the United States, changing my name, and becoming the richest man on the planet.
I have since discarded that dream, but a couple million in the bank would be nice.
I would rather be hated for who I am than loved for who I am not. I believe the two sweetest pains in the world are muscle soreness the day after a great workout and unrequited love before the age of 20. I would rather be bored alone than with someone else. I don’t mind eating by myself in crowded restaurants. I sing badly, so I don’t sing. I can’t draw a straight line, not even with a ruler. I believe that beauty will save the world someday, and that there’s nothing more beautiful than art.
I can only sleep on my back. I thought about suicide a couple of times, but I’ve never been tempted to attempt it.
I love to write. When I don’t love it, I kind of like it. I love the way the words I write reveal who I think I am. That’s not who I actually am, but it’s nice to think that someday I might become him, the man I pretend to be when I write.
The distant smell of the sea on a summer afternoon reminds me of my childhood. My parents owned a hotel just by the beach. I don’t drink. People who get drunk break my heart. Speaking of hearts breaking, I turned into literature quite a few women who broke my heart, but only one I ever wrote about as she was sleeping in the other room. She’s still mine.
I don’t know who God is, but I have read the Bible. Twice.
I believe Marcus Aurelius to have been the nicest man to have ever lived, and almost as wise as Socrates.
I don’t have a favorite artist, but van Gogh makes me dream of stars and Gauguin makes me feel melancholy slowly sipping in my bones. I believe da Vinci, Picasso, Dali, and Pollock were geniuses.
I have never read Ulysses by James Joice, but I tried. Twice. Sometimes I lie about having read books by famous authors.
When I was sixteen I fell in love with Fitzgerald’s Great Gatsby. I have read it every single year since. I cry every time I watch Baz Luhrman’s adaptation of Gatsby, whenever I read the ending to Steven Pressfield’s Virtues of War, and when I listen to the soundtrack of Children of Dune.
Sometimes I look in the mirror and find myself handsome. I like the sound of my voice, but I don’t like to listen to it.
I’ve gone days without eating because I had no money.
I was never in the army. I have never fired a gun, but I thought about going to a shooting range a couple of times. I like to admire nature from the safety and comfort of my house. I am afraid of bees. Sometimes, depending on my mood, I am afraid of dogs.
Things I am bad at: explaining something, asking for forgiveness, and editing my own words. I fell in love with the way the English language sounds when I was fourteen. I am a different person when I write. I swear a lot when I talk to someone I’m comfortable with. It takes me a couple of weeks to get comfortable with someone.
All my girlfriends trusted me enough to tell me all sorts of stories about their exes, but only one would never name the boyfriends she was talking about.
When I fall asleep, it’s always because I am too tired to keep my head up. I can’t wait to wake up. I am what they call restless elite; a nighthawk and an early bird bundled into one. I go to bed at 1 AM and wake up at around 5AM.
I’m not ashamed of my family, but they were ashamed of me for a long time. I have often fallen in love with women who did not seem to love themselves as much as I could have loved them. I tried to save the people I loved and I have failed. Twice.
I am an ambivert, meaning that I am glad when I go out with my friends, but also when I get to leave.
For most of my twenties, I did not know how to say no. I hate the winter cold, the summer rain, and long walks on the beach. I feel awkward when I have to buy someone a present. Most times I just buy them a book.
I have only ever bought flowers once, when I was six years old.
The girl whom I loved the most left me and taught me to love myself a bit more.
I almost get hit by a car once or twice every year.
I believe the most fascinating artists live exciting lives, but are boring individuals. I like to eat a lot of candy and sweets. It’s been so ever since I was a kid. In more ways than one, I am still a kid.
Sometimes I feel that what I am writing about is boring, so I just stop typing. I used to walk around the room and listen to music and think of ideas. Now, I just sit at my desk and write. Utter solitude, heartbreaking silence. I like it.
I wrote something like this five years ago, but it was terrible, and I deleted it a few months ago, because it wasn’t personal development, so it didn’t belong on my blog.
The best advice I can give someone regarding self-help is that they’ve got to help themselves. It won’t work unless they’re willing to work. I believe the advice we give others is just us talking to a previous version of ourselves.
I write most of my words early in the morning. I am writing these words late in the afternoon.
I admire the beauty in someone else’s words, James Salter for instance, and I believe my own words have nothing beautiful in them. Some say otherwise. I am aware that sometimes great writing has a certain rhythm. Like making love, when both people actually want to make love to each other.
Sometimes I’m afraid that I’ll die old and poor and alone. Sometimes I’m afraid to ask the Universe for more.
I like to work, but I also like to relax.
I am not a sinner, and I have no intention of becoming a saint. I believe everyone has a dark side. Even Gandhi had one. George Orwell wrote about it in an essay.
It’s been a long time since I’ve made a place of residence out of my past, but I do vacation there from time to time.
Words diminish my most powerful experiences, and that’s why I write about them over and over again. The people I envy motivate me to do more. I respect everyone, but I admire only a few. If we go out, I’m always curious to see the way you treat the staff. If you treat them badly, we’re not going to get along.
I don’t have a driver’s license or a passport. I only ever traveled by plane once. To England. Spent ten days there, walked around London for an entire weekend, until my shoes broke down.
Sometimes I think I am who I am because someone has to be.
I believe it’s always strangers who ask the most difficult question.
“Who are you?”
I just wrote 1,500 words and I’m still not sure you know who I am.
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