Sometimes I wonder if I unconsciously keep myself isolated from others, and then wonder why the same shared experience seems to have a different hue and tone for them.

For the past day or so, I have been reconnecting with my block mates from my first year in law school, and in sharing stories and reminiscing, I have come to the realization that I have a tendency to isolate myself, and in doing so have missed so so much of how it was to be young and relatively worry free.

What I'm realizing is that perhaps I am an introvert and prefer to escape into my own world instead of engaging with the rest of the world. I'm happy reading, be it books, my favorite sites, or watching the various television series I find myself interested, and generally being alone.

of separating the wheat from the chaff

I will never get used to the feeling of realizing that the friendship I have been cultivating was not all that mutual. It's always disconcerting when you finally wake up to the fact that the person you have been calling friend has been nice because they need you for something. Disconcerting and hurtful. I feel betrayed, not only because I had invested genuine emotion into the so-called friendship, but also because I realized I had been wasting my time.
I read a line somewhere that states that the person is too old to bother with the trivialities and drama attendant of getting to know someone. Which is also why I am so happy when I realize that I click with a person.

reconnecting with what I know

Writing has always been a source of comfort and pride for me. I was confident in the fact that I could wield words and somehow form them into something coherent, something that made sense. A few months back, I planned to get back to blogging, at least to use it to process my confused thoughts and feelings. Then I felt like that would be opening my soul too much to the world, and that what somehow, writing about something like that was too shallow, too childish for someone my age, and so I let it fall through.

I always attempt to write when inspiration strikes, and in the past few years, inspiration has been a dull, dim spark, that while there, was almost unnoticeable, and so I never put pen to paper, or fingers to a keyboard, to try hash out my feelings and thoughts. Maybe, between going back to school and writing for work, the small spark of inspiration got obscured. I do want to get back to writing, to blog again, to think of my thoughts consciously (does that even make sense?), to examine my feelings and motivations, and lay them out to the world, even though I have retained my reticence at sharing these scribblings with the people who know.