I felt like no one was really looking out for me, that I was marginal and incidental. I compensated by being spongelike, impressionable, and available to whatever and whoever provided the most comfort, the most sense of belonging. I was learning two sets of skills simultaneously: adaptation – linguistic and aesthetic – in order to fit in, but also, how to survive on my own.
I’ve officially turned into a loser,
Young bodies are like tender plants, which grow and become hardened to whatever shape you’ve trained them.
I feel the only thing you can do about life is to preserve it, by art if you’re an artist, by children if you’re not.
Rather than swallowing our pride and simply asking what we do not know, we choose to fill in the blanks ourselves and later become humbled. Wisdom was often, in its youth, proven foolish, and ones humiliated were meant to become wise.
It was quite a beautiful thing, the way we simply just came to be, with no effort or trying and slowly we found each other’s hands in the dark. No chains or promises, just a simple sign of hope
that things will go on and get better
and that things and people and views are still out there, yet to be found.
Brave words. Easy to write when one was young and death was still skulking over a distant hill somewhere… – Pg. 82
They can admit the new world exists, dangerous and irresistible. Cosy is not what awakening youth wants. Safety is not what it wants. The material world is not what it wants either.
Don’t feel bad if your youth cannot be joyful, but at least make it useful.
He started writing poetry again, but it didn’t come as easily. It was hard now to get past the self-consciousness – the silliness, really – of being such a well-established adult applying himself, seriously, to such a youthful joy.