I shut myself in the fine arts hall for 10 hours today to render a turn table for my 3d models (by the way, I fucked up on my renders, and I have to start over). By the time I realized I had worked through dinner, I left the building and found myself in some psycho dystopia where people scream down the streets, blare their horns relentlessly, and do stupid things like throw traffic cylinders at passing cars. In other words, the Eagles won the Super Bowl…cue mass migration of sports fanatics into Center City and ensuing chaos. To be honest, I was really freaked out and felt like a character in some Mr. Robot episode where all the anarchists wore scary masks and rioted down the streets of New York…sort of dramatic of me, I know. I don’t understand why people flip cars over in the face of victory. I feel like if I had such an investment in some team that won, I’d be so happy that I’d saunter down the streets and bless all the vehicles stationed at the curbs.
Anyways, I want to talk about self-consciousness.
The reason I don’t tell people that I have a blog is because I write embarrassing, strange things on here and take self-indulgent pictures of myself. But most importantly, if I were aware that I had a large, familiar readership, I’d surely self-consciously (or subconsciously) express myself in a different way. This breath down my back would ruin the honesty and clearheadedness with which I try to write–at least in the way I talk about my feelings and thoughts. This isn’t to say I don’t appreciate the people who stop by and take the time to read through my ramblings and scroll past oversized iPhone images.
This has been a motif throughout my life. I can’t exist with this feeling of ‘suffocation.’ I need 1000 miles of distance between myself and the real world to feel fully free and functional. This is probably bad. I go to a college for extroverts and am surrounded by young, energetic students every waking second. I will eventually go on to work in a company where I have to make small talk with co-workers on a daily basis. I am a part of a society that values extroversion and communication. That also makes logical sense. How’s anybody supposed to understand you or your messages/intents if you can’t speak about them effectively? How are you supposed to meet kindred spirits if you don’t at least participate in the game of life a little bit?
This is part of why I quit social media last year. I had this superfluous fear of being too “weird” in my thoughts of photo albums or square-cropped Instagram photos. I felt self-conscious and out of place. In my darkest times, being on social media only exacerbated my feelings of otherness. I hated seeing people smile and enjoying life. Wow that sounds incredibly petty and childish…to rephrase, the pictures of people with genuine smiles and happy moments felt like shards to my heart. I felt so distant from those sentiments and experiences…seeing these things only made me feel more disoriented, disconnected, and discontent. This isn’t the fault of others of social media (at least not entirely). It was more a function of where I, Annie Su, personally was, mentally, as a human being. But now, I am more ambivalent. I like to look back on the digital archives of my life, but I don’t like the idea of being encapsulated by maybe 500 images. I’d hope there’s more to me than that…
These paragraphs don’t logically connect all too much. My TA for my religious studies class would give me a B on this blog post…
Before this blog, I cycled through 4 tumblr’s. I was rereading all the weird posts I wrote…nothing was held back because I never advertised my URL. Just a thought.
Not that I want to be a god or a hero. Just to change into a tree, grow for ages, not hurt anyone.”Czesław Miłosz, from “Notes”
^ that was my favorite quote for so long.
oh man, ok I really have to sleep. Fuck, it’s so late.