The Umpteenth Journal Attempt (Version III)

Did a bit of thinking about what I wrote two posts ago, and I feel like clarifying the reasons behind it. Yes, there’s some self-inflicted pressure on having to put out the best work possible for the magazine, but now that I think about it, there’s a level of insecurity drawn from whenever I read other blogs, especially blogs by my friends. These are people who I spent six years together in university, though whenever I read their blogs, I feel like I’m the only one who sounds like I spent six years in high school. They all write eloquently, waxing philosophical, casually tossing in names of big thinkers who write books that I’ve probably fallen asleep to within five pages of reading. Whenever I check out their blogs, my mind just seems to shut down as everything flies way over my head. I just don’t understand, or maybe just can’t relate to whatever they’re saying.

Why do I feel so dumb? Why do I feel as shallow as a can of Coke? Maybe I just haven’t trained myself to handle the deep stuff, and if I’m being honest, the deep stuff hasn’t really appealed to me. Hence those six years in university, I suppose. I’m more likely to write about frivolous stuff like how crappy the cinema at Cinere Mall is rather than the state of this nation, or whatever current affair is the latest hot topic. I find it hard to come up with something profound to provide food for thought. On the other hand, perhaps profundity is something that occurs naturally, and forcing myself to sound smart will just ring false. Maybe I should just lose the guilt over not being able to be fantastic most of the time, if at all. What’s more important: being honest about one’s own shallowness or faking one’s brilliance?

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