It’s been two years and look how much you’ve grown. From nothing, you’ve become everything. Heartaches and love, happiness and sadness, sins and blessings – you contained it all. You even contain what isn’t here yet – the future. Because for two years, blog, you’ve chronicled the sparse moments in my life and how I’ve decided to live them, whatever that may mean.
It may mean anything from lions to love to little lonely you. You wrote that exact sentence two years ago in your “About” section. You also wrote that “…only a human would contrive such drivel and expect someone to understand it.” It’s funny. You look back on yourself and what you’ve done, and you wonder how the heck did you do it all. For starters, you can barely remember why you would create such a sentence. It seems clunky, unfinished, miserable.
It makes you laugh. Your style is so bland and vague and general and uninformed. You try to remember how you got this way, but then you look at the past and realize that those sentences aren’t any different than now and you’re the same person just older, not wiser, and you’re no closer at understanding yourself, this place you live in, and how the two relate than when you were when you started. In fact, you’re just more confused. This paragraph is your evidence.
You’ve had troubles, certainly. In between this year and the last, that seems more obvious. The frequency to which you’ve written has gone down dramatically. You’ve become more reserved, more careful. You closet your feelings, ideas, and emotions into tightlipped journals that close when you close them. You’d say that you were a silhouette of what you once were, but even that was taken away from you recently.
A lot seemed to have gone the way of your shadow in the darkness. You’re not sure exactly where everything went but you’re told that that’s life: it’s gone before you notice it and when you do, it’s already too late and you’re coughing and you’re sick and where did the time go, where did you?
Today, you turn two, and you’ve seen what started it all – a girl. You wonder if all writing is about a girl or a boy in the end.
When you saw her, you can only guess how much she has changed and how much she hasn’t. You looked into her eyes and understood that time doesn’t heal all wounds, only some. You’re also evidence of it, blog, because you are so entirely happy yet completely unhappy at the same time.
You’ve had difficulties. People tried to kill you. TV tried to kill you. Consumer products are probably killing you. Even you have tried to kill you with questions like is this even worth it in the end and even if it is, are you? You find something worth being content about only to find something better. You can’t even be complacent for too long.
After two years, you are told that things will be okay in the end but you’re convinced that things weren’t okay in the first place. Maybe people just got comfortable in the bad and everything that happens afterwards is just another proverbial cherry on a cake composed of dog shit.
But something in you stirs. It’s small but it’s yours. It’s a little, stupid voice that says even if life is just a pile of shit, you’ll swim through it. You’ll doggy paddle if you have to because if your life isn’t worth it, what is? And if that’s not convincing enough, you’re convinced that there are other people in the same shit puddle with you. We’re all in this together, whatever this thing is.
That’s our strength. We’re banded together by the common factor of shifting around in a world that seems horrible and beautiful at the same time. No matter what, we’re not alone if we choose not to be. Because we’re all going through different battles. We’re all stuck in World War X with ourselves, others, and our pants in the morning.
And if we forget how united we are, how common our troubles may be, then we need only get up and walk outside and realize that there are billions of others contending, fighting, and living.
In the next year, there will be failures, moments you think yourself as nothing. It won’t be easy, blog. You will not be written on one week or a next. Some days, you’ll hate everything and anyone and yourself most of all.
But whatever happens, whatever the third year brings, I am telling you, blog, that it won’t simply pass and it won’t simply go on. Nothing ever does. Things will get better if you let them, worse if you don’t. You’re in control, and here you are typing it all away.
Life can be shitty, you’ve learned that, but you’ve also learned that you’re only as strong as the next time you get up. So, stand taller. Be a midget among giants. Be a bush among trees. Be Kacper among millions upon millions of others.
I promise to be there with you through it all, blog. Don’t be afraid because it is less satisfying than courage. Don’t hate because it is messier than love. And don’t try to be something you’re not because you’re two years old and look how you’ve already blossomed.