Forgetting to Post 💔

[5.27.26 | 10:20pm]

The amount of writing I've done for this silly page is very disproportionate to the amount of posting I've done—YIKES. I've made an entry for almost every day, which were mostly just ramblings, but consistent, nonetheless (and that's without counting the multiple entries I've made per day). However, the severe lack of those blog posts might raise the question: "Where are they?"  To which, I'd palm my face and say, "They're in my notes app." 

How counterintuitive it is to dedicate an entire website to journalism, yet never publish any updates. 

After the infamous "SpaceHey deleted my voluptuous blog [via refreshing mid-sentence]" incident, I told myself that writing on Space wasn't the best idea due to its unpredictability, especially with how up and down the servers can be. So, I migrated over and "evolved" to writing in my notes app. Problem solved, right? Wrong. I'd write in my notes, yes, but remembering to transport them here is simply too much to ask of me. 💔 Despite being 17, I lack all sense of object permanence—if it (an action/task) is not directly in front of my face, the odds of it being fulfilled are next to none. I swear, it's not done on purpose 💔💔💔. I still have all of them [the entries], too, but in my opinion, it'd be a disservice to the past me to put [the entries] up since I'm not in the same headspace. In fact, I genuinely want to continue them, but as a writer, it's just so inexplicably hard to continue 'someone else's' story. I know, in the end, it'd still technically be me furthering my own thoughts, but it's not the same! Me on a Wednesday continuing Tuesday's Me's thoughts just don't work—because Wednesday and Tuesday are two different days, offering two distinct experiences. I believe that, whether posted or not, whatever I'm drafting/thinking about in this current moment in time, it's irreplaceable. And truly, that is the sentiment to explain this. 

(Also, the [writing] flow always comes to me at night 💔 and then I fall asleep)

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I've made much improvement to my screen time—looking at you, Instagram. Since summer has started, as mentioned in a previous entry that never saw the light of day, it's increasingly easier to fall into those dreaded scrolling traps, '[wasting] away in misery and self-doubt.' A few days ago, I shared my experience.

I wrote: "I picked up my phone, regrettably so [and opened] that abomination of an app, 'Instagram.' I scrolled and swiped, viewing every story and interacting with every reel that I found the least bit engaging or relatable. Within minutes, I believe, my FYP—'For you Page,' slang for curated content—became ridden with my own ideals: [...]. In short, I made an echo chamber. By engaging with content that reflected darker and less-than-stellar perspectives, I inadvertently [caused more] of that type of content to surface. [It ruined my mood]"

Honestly, rereading it now, I feel a bit of pity—just a bit. I personally don't think it's fair to deal with that kind of isolation, let alone having it bounced back at you, but then again, I kinda feel that that bad day was just something that needed to happen. It was an encouragement, per se, to find more 'mentally productive' things to exert energy on. 

In fact, I find myself questioning it a lot—are the things that happen to me justified/needing to happen? Italics on "are" convey speculation, while those on "justified," question if the reaction equates my action (or lack thereof). 

It's an open secret that I crashed out in November 2024. The effects of which I still carry to date, but had the most significant impact, extending into February. I'll talk about it more one day, but even now, as I reflect, I genuinely can't find it in myself to say I deserved what happened to me. Granted, I wasn't the best person, but even then, I don't think bad people deserve the absolute worst. And to explain my definition of 'the worst,' imagine "the series of unfortunate events that were all exactly what I didn't need, for the sake of my mental state."

Did I deserve what happened to me?

Did I not deserve what happened to me?

Is "what happened to me" [a] naturally passive [way of saying it], absolving [personal] responsibility?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I'd like to know, myself. Perhaps, I'll be 30 and still pondering it. I'll be the first to say: I love things that test my own ideals—Is there (a) God? Do things just happen? Surprisingly, I've maintained a pretty steady belief in Karma. And according to Alchemy's First Law of Equivalent Exchange, you cannot gain anything without first giving something of equal value in return. Whether I like it or not, what happened is why I'm here today. It's why I'm thinking of this now. I sometimes say that I regret everything and would revoke it in a heartbeat, but that's a lie. My second-guessing tells me I wouldn't [take it back, especially not in a heartbeat]. And the unfiltered truth is that it knocked a lot of people out of my life who really had no use being there. A bit of pain in the moment can be a necessity to know what true pleasure can be. 

So, maybe I did deserve what happened to me. If "what happened" was a bit of tough love.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Who knows? I sure don't. 

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I feel these entries are rather lengthy, but this is, frankly, the only time I sit with myself and my thoughts. It's therapeutic. 

Tomorrow—today, as it's officially 12:35am—I must rise early-ish to attend an orchestra camp. It's near 1-1 guidance to help us (me and the small group I'm in) tackle some tough music. BUT, since I always have something to complain about—TELL ME WHY ALL THOSE KIDS ARE YOUNGER THAN ME YET BETTER THAN ME AHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAH!!! It truly is unfortunate. I practiced so much after today's session ended, not just out of embarrassment, but also to ensure that what I was told actually stuck. Full transparency, the transformation was impressive. One single day of lessons got me through almost a page's worth of content. Yay! However, I'm not sure how well that'll hold up during the actual audition. Ultimately, I should aim for personal growth and improvement as a musician. Nevertheless, being older than the competition and WORSE than the competition is something I can't get behind. I want to say "oh well" or "womp womp," but those only work if I don't actually care. I do care, and I never want to not care. I just have to remind myself that it's okay and that things are just the way they are—because it is okay. I need to stop hiding away from things I'm not good at anyway. 

That's a conclusive end for tonight. Although I'd love to rehash the introduction of Seven and Two (who I can technically rename, given that it was never published), I think it's more introspective and mature to speak on myself rather than getting so caught up in others. It gives me content now for the future later, and the whole point of journalism, I believe, is to serve as documentation of a particular point in time. This is me at this point in time—May 28th, 2025 (Wednesday) at 12:59—haha 1am. Goodnight SpaceHey. 

Koi /ᐠ - ˕ -マᶻ 𝗓 𐰁