Dear Diary: The Misconception of the Beauty of Tragedy


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I think I get it now. To know what it feels like to shift between absorption into all the ugly aspects of life to thinking that it's the most beautiful thing the next minute. I get what it feels like to rely on gut instinct, to romanticize an impending lust for youth until you've tarnished every opportunity to embrace the things that people tell you should matter. I get what it feels like to be so in love with the moment, that you could care less about sacrificing responsibility for those five minutes spent on finding solace in the smallest things. Yet no matter how much it can destroy, being crazy enough to still live in it like it's the air that you breathe. 

I like to dream big, but live small. I like to worship broken poets, painters, musicians, actors who've fallen into the death trap of living fast and dying young  being stupid enough to cultivate a lifestyle derived from the habits of degenerate souls. Mainly, however, I like to believe this popular notion, that there is a fine line between love and hate. I like to believe that to be truly content in your heart means embracing the good mixed with the ugly. I embrace dualism. The concept that one cannot understand lust without having experienced pain. That one cannot experience love without hate. I like to think to myself that I live this way when I know I never will, because at one point, I naively convinced myself that life is only beautiful when you seal a tragic fate and you do your best to live through it.

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I say I never think about the future, yet I do. I think about who I'll fall in love with, the friends that'll come and go, the places I'll visit, the music I'll listen to, aware that the person I am in ten years will never be the person I am today. But what I think about the most; what scares me the most are the number of young souls foolish enough to believe that living fast, and dying young is the only way out of the road.

Maybe life is best experienced when you walk on the line that borders between sanity and insanity, but undeniably when curiosity pulls you into the darker aspects of life, it always wins no matter what you say or do.These are the consequences of pointless, hedonistic youth. You get washed into these bitter moments of realization. A feeling of anxiety and emptiness wavering over you until you are swallowed into numbing regret. Is life worth living, and is it worth waking up to newer possibilities?

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Deep down, there is a glimmer of hope, but that light is restrained from feelings of worthlessness and a lifeless daze. To make things better for yourself, you resort to daydreams as if you're living life like its shown in the movies, televisions, songs, and the other mediums that consume you. Your daydreaming, you aspiring to mirror the lifestyles, behaviors, and choices of characters and icons you glorify, is nothing more but your method of escapism from boring reality. What you want to be is a reflection of what you choose to see, but it crushes you when you realize there are issues that arise from trying to emulate the ideal persona of what the perfect person should be in your head.

The truth is, you are not an Angela Hayes, Penny Lane, or Lana Del Rey. You are not a 'manic pixie' femme fatale facade. What you should carry with you and share with the world is the truth, even the flaws and quirks you so desperately attempt to hide that you never have the time to improve on them. Your true goal in life should be an attempt to become the best version of yourself in the most genuine way possible, and you may have to evaluate your situation if that version you hold right now is nothing more but a pop culture trope romanticizing a sad girl aesthetic.

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