'It seemed to her such nonsense - inventing differences, when people, heaven knows, were different enough without that. '

So, I have this crazy habit of publishing a post and then viewing it once it has been published on ze blog. And I realised something. This blog is really, going nowhere. It has no beginning, no precise message; sometimes it is about art, other times it is pretty much about nothing. Which is more often than not. And then I start thinking about what exactly the main essence, if you like, this blog of mine is about, who exactly it resonates with, and why the hell... I mean heck, I keep writing on here. 

Sorry for being rude. Hello, happy Sunday everyone. Hope you are feeling fine. I want to make you happy... Sorry, again. Singing a song in writing? Weirdness. 

 Erm. As I was saying in writing, I am still trying to figure out where exactly this blog is going. And considering the fact that I am possibly, the world's worst planner-aheader (sorry. But if Shakespeare could make up words, then so can I), I still cannot tell you where I want this thing to go. Which pretty much sums up my little life. And no, this does not mean that I don't have direction or whatever the Dalai Lama would call my situation. In my case, I think this lack of "direction" stems from being a dabbler. Yes. That is what I would like to think it is. I dabble. A lot.

You see, I am a chronic learner. I want to know it all. But not in an arrogant, I-have-to-know-everything-so-I-can-show-you-how-much-better-I-am-than-you kind of quest for knowledge, more like, my mind just yearns for constant information (At least I hope I am not arrogant. If I seem that way, then please, do forgive me). I want to see things like the Ancient Roman Ruins and Michelangelo's 'David', and stand there for ages taking awful tourist-y pictures and appreciate Michelangelo's bravery, for hacking off the part of his sculpture that drew the most attention. I want to walk along a Parisian side walk and buy pain au chocolat from a real French boulangerie; speak the little French I can remember and have the locals make awful fun of me. I want to go to Italy, and marvel at the sheer sophistication of Italian ladies and eat real pesto. And learn how to sew properly, and possibly, how to work a camera. And soak in as much of Gaudi and Salvador Dali as my brain would let me in Spain. And meet Miuiccia Prada and Anna Dello Russo, because I still haven't met a woman who has leopard print wallpaper in her home, and wears a daring lacy number like she did and still be on my 'Women That I Respect list'. Miuiccia, because, despite my vehement dislike of her fall 2010 shoes, I can understand it from an 'artistic' perspective. But her quirk works for me, so much so that I would not mind if my wedding dress were covered in a million nude women. LOL. My mother would hyperventilate of humiliation, were that to happen.

Erm. Cobra shoes? I think i'll pass. They'd look nice to hang my jewellery on however. (MiuMiu, fall 2010; style.com)

There are, obviously, countless other things I want. Flimsy little things like owning a puppy named Daffodil, a little kitten (Still unsure of what I would call it), as well as living in Peru whilst tending to dolphins. Oh, and a couple of goldfish as well. Quite a couple, actually. Goldfish make me happy. However, these things do not technically, fit the stereotypical characteristics of a person who is at university studying Pharmacy, do they? No, they do not. My university friends look at me surprisingly and annoyingly when I have my momentous outbursts about supposedly flimsy topics, or when I sit for hours reading out '1920s: A complete account of the Jazz Age' aloud whilst we're trying to study genetics. Even my mother and brother look at me with bewilderment most of the time. And, although I have come to the conclusion that I am a bit on the weird side, I cannot help but wonder why it is that I feel so passionate about things that others do not care the slightest bit about, or why others seem to assume that the reason behind one's "difference" if I may call it so, is simply a questfor attention.

Altogether, I guess what the main point of yet another pointless rant is that no one is as we expect them to be. No one is everybody, if that makes sense. It made more sense in my head than written down. What I mean, is that ultimately, there are no two people on earth who are alike in every way possible anyway, not even identical twins. Difference is an inherent trait in humans, so much so that we cannot comprehend who we ourselves are really, yet try to understand others and explain who THEY are. I do not know what exactly it is that has caused such heavy sentiment on my part; maybe because I have lived a big chunk of my life trying to be someone I am not in the hopes that I please everyone. Maybe it is because I am so scared that the path of life is not straightforward and this lack of direction terrifies the hell.. I mean heck out of me. Or maybe I am, like every other twenteen (nineteen and eight months, to be precise) year old teenage-adult out there in the world, coming to the realisation that life is one mystical bubble of mixed experiences. I really do not know what it is. But what I do know is this: I am glad that I am finding out, slowly but surely where I fit into in this world.

...I guess this is another lesson this long, sometimes hot summer has taught me also. That I am the only ME, there is. Or something.

Oh, and, once I have figured out where this blog is going, I shall be excited to tell you. But right now, it's going with the wind. Do bear with me.

Laterwafer!

xoxo

* Title- excerpt from Virginia Woolf; 'To the Lighthouse'.