The Bits

Here's my journal entries for the free days we had. It's a collection of notes I wrote down in my phone during the trip.

The bits.

The pieces in between the themes.

I was going to sensor them, delete some or turn them into more like formed thoughts and not just phrases. But I decided I like them in their original form. Each paragraph is a new point in time. Either hours or days apart.

It's like they're trying to prevent disaster. Everyone knows it's going to happen, it's not if it's going to happen, it's when and where. And people are desensitized.

A sea of black and dark colors. Maybe you don't want to stand out, maybe you just want to be another nameless face, maybe you don't want to be targeted

The first time out I heard a taxi honk. The second time I smelled urine. It's wonderful here.

I wonder if there's pressure to be fashion forward. Because a lot of people are so stylish, and a lot of people absolutely do not care. It's like what we talked about at breakfast, people might not be nice but they're accepting. So NY takes in everyone no matter what, it's one people of individuals.

The library is like a brain inside artwork. People here are observed and unfazed. Used to it. Not like zoo animals, like a different dimension. Like one way glass. The tourists don't exist, they're part of life, like rain to Bellinghamsters.

The lions face out not each other.

You can either be a tourist, and observer, a watcher. Or you can live it. You can take a tour or be a part of the madness yourself

The people who stand out fit in.

Dancing in the subway, bringing light to people's day. The power of music and movement. That brought me happiness, that made me feel alive.

We were talking about how there are no gas stations. The guy on the sidewalk said "The city is kinda at war with drivers."

(After watching La La Land) The smell of Christmas trees and rain, and I'm feeling really Irish. My heart hurts

I think I give people too much credit. Expect them to be the good version of me instead of the bad. But I'm usually at my worst when it comes to other's emotions. So why am I so let down when they don't care about me?

Do you ever feel like that? Like the people you thought were just watching you were really out there living? They're not reading your posts and looking for your pictures they're just out living with the people around them. They weren't missing you, they didn't think twice about it, they were busy. They don't miss you like you miss them. Are those the people you want as friends? Are those the ones you want to keep? Why do you hold on so tight?

I want someone to love me not for what decorates my bones, but for the thoughts in my brain, the love in my heart, and the pieces of my spirit that set me apart from the rest. Don't love me for talent, or passion, or convenience, or beauty. Love me for everything else, everything unexplainable.