The fourth part of the summary of thoughts I have developed over the past half year. I can’t even say “four months” anymore, considering the amount of time that has passed, together with the fact that my head never stops thinking. I guess that’s why this “summary” of thoughts took up four massive blog posts. Or maybe I’m just not too good at summarising.
As in the process of writing everything is subject to change, I don’t mind ending up with a completely different story than I planned to write. I was planning to share multiple short stories in this part. Yet, it’s past 2am now and it’s clear to me that most of those stories are not gonna end up on this page. Why? Because when you feel passionate about a certain thing, person, or even a dream, the rest loses its significance.
Only a few can be radiant, otherwise, they wouldn’t stand out.
There are a few things in life I can’t live without. Let’s get my loved ones and fresh air out of the way, and move on to things I honestly believe my soul can’t live without. These have surpassed the title of “hobby” ages ago, up to the point that continuing or not is no longer a choice. This might be weird to explain, but I will try my best to do so.
I love writing. You might have guessed that from the fact that I’m keeping this blog, although it be very poorly. I’ve started writing because I loved to read. It filled me with joy to experience how simple words on paper could take me on all kinds of adventures, which seemed much better than real life. I liked the idea of being part of those stories, so I started to keep a diary, almost immediately when I learned to write in the third year of primary school (7 y/o). Maybe a year later. I’ve continued doing so until halfway through high school, I think (around 17 y/o).
I still have all of them, in a box in my old room at my mother’s place. Some entries consisted of fictional stories with my classmates and me as characters. Some of them were cute and simple things, such as how the sun was shining and I got to wear my favourite dress with bananas, or how I hit my head when I tripped and fell into a closet. Unfortunately, most of them were not.
You know how they say that love isn’t always a choice?
I wasn’t a happy child. No one outside of my parents and brother could know. I’m not even sure anyone in my family fully knew. I was dancing, singing, and smiling a lot. I would fantasise as much as I could, and go on adventures with my imaginary friends. Still, when I started to write, the fantasies quickly wore off. Most dairy entries were sad, some stained with tears. Some were angry, even up to a point that scares me at present. As I got older tears stopped falling, but the anger gained more words to express itself. Eventually, it wore down. I became happy, started writing happier things until I stopped writing them at all.
I started writing for the same reason as I started to like reading: I wanted to escape. I wanted to get rid of all of the thoughts in my head and scream through the ink in my pen. The better my life got, the less I felt the need to write. Until it went down again. You can understand that I ended up with notebooks full of negativity, ignoring all the good that had happened in between. It took me a few years to notice this. After that, I stopped writing. In a diary at least.
I started writing songs.
Complete lyrics about things that bothered me, things that made me feel strong, and things that worried me. Slightly less negative, but still. It wasn’t on purpose. I simply didn’t know what to do with the amount of thoughts in my head. I had to put them somewhere. Three years later, I wrote my first semi-positive song, when I was in love.
I’ve been writing lyrics ever since and keeping multiple notebooks, which all have their own purpose. One of them being solely filled with moments where I felt intensely happy. I think I’ve started around three blogs before, but I’m actually attempting to keep this one. I’ve started this one out of practicality. I honestly didn’t feel like telling the same story to different people. However, when I did my internship (just a month after starting this blog) and didn’t actually get to write there, I felt I was missing something. I only realised what it was in the last three weeks of my stay there. While on exchange afterwards, I took an advanced essay writing class. It cost me the most work of all the classes I was taking, but I enjoyed it so much. I didn’t expect that, as odd as that might sound.
The thing is, I’ve been writing for years. From basic diary entries to emotional monologues, from a self-made journal in primary school to a magazine in high school and even at my current study. There I didn’t even choose to write. I just kind of ended up in the Print Department, along with ten other “unlucky” students. It turned out not to be that bad. Still, writing had become a natural thing to do. No one is forcing me to. I simply need to write. I guess that’s how that grew into a passion.
Passions can be suppressed for a while, but never forgotten.
That’s what I believe. ‘Cause honestly, I have tried.
Regardless of how passionate I feel about writing, I cannot say it shines the brightest. My biggest passion has never been topped or even matched by anything I’ve come across so far. I cannot remember when I first started to love it. I can’t even remember when I started to dream about it. I’ve tried to let it go multiple times but failed every single try. When I avoided it, I felt physically bad. When I ignored it, I became incredibly sad. The more I tried to give it up, the more it pulled me back in. I’m sorry for sounding so incredibly dramatic, because it’s rather simple. I absolutely love music, especially singing. Yet, it doesn’t feel nearly as simple as that.
I started listening to lyrics out of the same escapist desire as why I started reading. Listening to music, playing it, dancing and singing to it were mere fun as well, but as my English improved so did the meaning of the songs I listened to. Up to a point where I got addicted to it. I needed to dance to feel better. I needed to hear someone yell the words that I was writing. I needed to sing to feel alive. Again, this may sound dramatic, but this is the intensity with which I felt it. I still do, though I learned to control it much better.
It still burns deep inside of me, and sometimes the flames get so high it scares me.
Honestly, I don’t have a single clue of how to make sense of the massive amount of thoughts that rush through my head when talking about singing, and music in general. I’m sure I’ll figure it out at some point, but for now, this post has been long enough. I believe that it’s important to find out what you are passionate about, and pursue that with all that you can. I’ve been lacking motivation for a long time. I tried to be as realistic as possible, which has left me standing in one spot panicking about what on earth I should be doing. In the past few months, I’ve come to plenty of realisations, most of them thanks to the people I have met. I’m willing to finally start working towards what I’ve dreamt of for years, instead of remaining in that continuous state of panic and confusion.
Therefore, thank you.
– Katrin –
Cover photo by Ian Schneider
[Note: I’d like to at least mention some people I am referring to, as well as what I saw from them.
Poetic. Smart. One of the purest people I have come across. A guy you can trust in an instant, and that’s coming from me, the eternal sceptic. Respect him a lot.
Enjoy life, have fun, and never forget what’s important. Most of his talks while drunk have been complete rubbish, but some I doubt I’ll forget. Even if he forgot them the next morning.
Take life how it is and make the most of it. Don’t waste time and energy hanging onto what you know. It’s okay to change your point of view. That’s how you grow. Thanks for telling me that.
This guy seems to smile all the time. No wonder I got good vibes all over. He’s also full of surprises it seems, no wonder if you get to know him, while he’s humble as f. “It’s not as impressive as it seems” is a sentence I’ve heard/read way too much. Still, his storytelling skills are killing.
Well, this is the definition of a fighter who doesn’t realise it herself. Hope she will though.
This guy is just full of love. He def knows how to cheer people up and is there for you when you need him. I miss you hugs, man!
Honestly, meeting passionate people makes your life better, whether they show it on purpose or not.]