June 6th, 2018. 8:23PM.
It’s been awhile.
Here and there I’ll scribble down a few notes in my journal or in my phone, nothing serious, but moments I want to remember 3 years from now, 13 years from now. I stopped sharing my thoughts and kept them to myself for the past few months. Someone said, “Why not just have a personal journal?”…good question. I guess I listened.
It’s really just about listening to what your soul wants. If you’re craving a sunset, go watch the sun melt into the sky. If you need to write down your thoughts, write them down.
But something I’ve been hit with lately is the same old boring fucking question: Who are you? Why do I ask myself this question repeatedly? I don’t know. It’s as though I am in a constant search for who I actually am. The style I want to represent or the hobbies I share. Why does it even matter though? Aren’t you technically always the same person but go through different versions of yourself throughout life?
Am I REALLY the music I listen to? The tattoos that are permanent on my skin? The style of clothing I wear? Am I the Vans and goodwill tshirt I wear 99% of the time? Last weekend I did my hair for the first time in months. I wore a fitted dress and heels and thought, is this supposed to be the real me?
I think I’ll always be me, just different versions I guess.