Financial Aid: A Blessing, but Also a Bitch

Today I went to the university I go to for a checkup on my financial aid. Everything went smoothly. My account was updated enough to include the new money that was given to me in the form of a couple of grants. I think the amount revolved around $5,500 in total for the school year, which is great. Now I only need to wait for one more scholarship to come into my account for me to be fully set for class. And with that being said, I can finally relax until the fated first day of the new year. I feel good, very good to be in fact. I wonder how the rest of my class are preparing for their school year. They must be doing the same preparations as me, right? I think so. This is part of the routine we students do in our quest of attaining the highly sought-after college degree.

It’s no easy task getting that degree, that’s for sure. However, with less than two years remaining in my college career, I have been thinking about what it will be like for me after I graduate from college. Some new obstacles will have to be tackled such as housing, employment, food, and transportation. You know what I mean when I say these things, reader. These are necessities adults have to fulfill for themselves, and soon enough, I’ll act like one of tem too.

One thing I don’t have to worry about aside from those issues are loans. Up until now, I’ve only accepted grant and scholarship money. I have NOT accepted loan money. The reason for this is because I’m wary of what will happen once I accept those loans. I will be therefore obligated to pay it back, and that’s something I don’t want to do. I just want to focus on my studies and not worry about money. Sure, I have been the recipient of a fair amount of loan offers from God-knows-where (I honestly don’t want to bother researching about how I got them. I just want to say what I want to say right now.), but it’s not worth it for me to accept them. I can say that without any anxiety because I’m not dependent on that kind of compensation. I’m in a position where I’m able to refuse loans and be fine without it as a result. Just grants and scholarships will do for me.

And for someone like me who is enjoying this luxury, it must be painful to see the rest of the students across the country, not just from my university, who are experiencing the complete opposite of the pros financial aid can bestow on the unfortunate. I may not be precisely correct, but I’m assuming there are students out there figuring out right now how they can pay off debt totaling at approximately $5,000-$100,000. Now then, I’m no big-shot mathematician, but I can safely say these numbers are stupidly big. And if these numbers are big, then that must not be good for poor students like me. Man, some big newspaper should hire me for using great math.

We all know the story about student debt. They are killers. They can destroy your livelihood. It can break your mind. It will follow you around until you die. It is, like time, cruel. It scares me as well. Can you imagine paying back a $10,000 debt immediately after graduating from college? Hell no. I would not like that order, thank you very much. Fortunately for us common folk, there’s a grace period installed before we’re properly charged with the debt, so that’s a plus we can live with. The problem with that, though, is the grace period only last for 6 months, which means you’ll have to work very hard to amass the amount of money you owe in a short time—if you want—so that you won’t have to deal with that debt problem in the future. Some students probably did exactly what I said and got rid of their thorn very quickly. On the other hand, others did not thanks to their own personal issues.

And what happens next to the latter?  If they don’t pay back the loan in a while after the grace period, then the interest rate accompanying it may play a daunting role in ballooning the growth of the said debt. This, in itself, is another problem altogether so I’ll leave that aside. It just gets too annoying for me to elaborate further and I’ll be forced to turn into a financial expert if I do that. Ugh, I’m off-topic.

The point is student debt can get really ugly really quickly and some of them are not capable of dealing with it on their own. They’ll probably fall under the pressure. They will most likely rely on assistance thereafter. And if even that doesn’t work, then they’re screwed. They’ll be forced to attempt to file for a loan forgiveness or cancellation.

That’s not right, though. Students graduating from school shouldn’t worry about paying their debt. They should instead worry about finding a job and be a productive member of society. It’s the ideal situation everyone wants to have, but alas, that’s not the case. Student debt has strained the young Americans of today. It is the result of having no choice but to accept hefty sums of loans for the advancement of our education. Some are lucky to make do with just grants and scholarships, like myself, but others are not.



Although financial aid is largely advertised as a blessing for students, it is, in reality, also a gateway for being entangled and tortured by the chains of debt.

Aftermath

*written at 8:56 P.M. on my notebook with the intention of typing this here later


Strangely enough, I have nothing to offer to you tonight, reader. Hmmm, I wonder why that's the case.

Maybe it's because of the piece I did a couple of days ago. That drained me mentally. I poured everything I had onto that emotionally so I guess it took a toll on my mind. No worries, though. The completion of the passage lifted a tremendous amount of weight off of my shoulders, which was great. I never truly gave my thoughts on anything in an essay form before, so doing it for the first time proved to be a quite a difficult task for me to finish.

*sigh*

Man, that might've been the longest thing I've ever written. It doesn't matter, though, because, in the end, I enjoyed doing it. It sure beats doing mandatory academic research papers, that's for sure.

If you haven't checked it out, please do so.

The One Similarity a Pro Wrestler and a Teacher Both Share

Chris Benoit and Troy Raymond

These are two people I remember from my past. The former was a professional wrestler and the latter was my 6th grade math teacher. They lived completely different lives when compared to each other. But for me, they create wonderful moments that have not left my mind for years. They were both good people in their field of work. Friends and family of the two were known to have been in good terms with them when they were alive.

******

Up until his death, Chris had a family consisted of his loving wife named Nancy, who was a manager for various wrestlers in numerous promotions during the 80s and 90s (who even met Chris while working in the business), and a son named Daniel, who was born in 2000. He had a family and his career was going smoothly. He won a lot—and I do mean a lot—of championships in a plethora of companies such as WWE, WCW, NJPW, ECW, Stampede Wrestling, and much, much more.

In the week before his death, he was scheduled to wrestle at a WWE pay-per-view event named “Vengeance: Night of Champions” against an up-and-coming youngster named C.M. Punk for the ECW Championship. Coincidentally enough, the event was supposed to take place in the city of Houston, Texas, my home town. On the night of June 24th, when the PPV actually happened, Chris no-showed and wasn’t seen anywhere near the Toyota Center.

Chris was always known to be a very physical wrestler. The moves he made in the ring were so stiff his opponents later recollected that they were bordering on the line of being very painful. He was a warrior, but he was reckless at times, too. One of his finishers he always used was the diving headbutt, a move that occurs when you climb up to the top turnbuckle on the corner of the ring, jump off of it, have your arms spread out, and land horizontally on your front side with your head being the first thing to hit your opponent, rendering him “unconscious” under the disguise of kayfabe. Every time after Chris executed the move he would blench around with his arms covering his head as a way to cope with the pain inflicted upon it by the impact of its landing. Repeating this move over and over again eventually took a toll on his head, and as he sustained concussion after concussion for long periods of time, he unknowingly developed dementia which further aggravated his brain.

******

I didn’t know much of anything about Mr. Raymond before I became his homeroom student. He looked very scary thanks to his large intimidating build and height. He had the face of an old veteran who went through serious battles during his military career and didn’t want anyone to talk to him about it and the demeanor of an authoritarian dictator. He looked menacing every time I passed him in the morning on my way to the cafeteria to eat my daily breakfast. I wanted to have no part with him when I was in the 5th grade.

In my next year (6th grade), I was put in a language arts homeroom class with one teacher named Ms. Ramos. Everything was fine and normal a few weeks into the school year until the class was getting filled with new students—transfers, exchange students, all of that jazz. With that happening, it was clear to the administrators of the school that a few kids would have to leave Ms. Ramos’ class to make room for the newbies. You can already see where this was going, reader.

Faced with this predicament, I, being the chivalrous boy that I was, decided to change classrooms for said newbies. I was being polite so I had no choice but to do it. Why would I not do it? C’mon, I was the preeminent good guy. In reality, though, I was forced to change, so any grievance I uttered afterwards were to be heard by deaf ears. In other words, it was pointless for me to say no. And guess whose homeroom class I was put into, reader. That’s right, it was Mr. Raymond’s.

“Shit,” I thought. “I now have to be in his class? God damn it. I didn’t want to be in his class in the first place and now I’m here. Great. Just fucking great.”

These were the kind of thoughts I was thinking the moment I first met him. I was scared to shake his hand when he extended his own upon meeting me. I thought he was going to eat me when he approached me. People of his size weren’t supposed to be in a small intermediate school like where I was currently in. So, when he welcomed me with open arms and a friendly attitude, I was taken aback. It was so surreal I even thought I was being punk’d by Ashton Kutcher, who would then emerge out of nowhere with a mirage of cameras swarming at me to capture my reaction.

A couple of weeks would pass after my first meeting with him and I later realized that he was a cool teacher after all. He cracked jokes with the class. He was friends with everyone. He was a good teacher who made sure all of us students understood whatever lesson he was teaching on any certain day. He later became a good friend of mine, surprisingly enough. Often times he would call me “Planko” in jest as a way of teasing me. I’d get mad as a result and tell him to stop but he never listened to me and my orders. To add insult to injury, he called more stupid names like “Pablo”, “Pancho”, and “Paco”. I hated that. Regardless, he was very good to me that year.

******

The deaths of both these men gave me a great deal of shock when I first heard of them. I mean, I knew it was going to happen eventually, but I didn’t think for a long shot that it would happen way too soon in their lives. They were in their mid-40s when they died. The news came out of nowhere. I couldn’t believe it at first glance. They were gone, both Benoit and Mr. Raymond.

The shock later morphed itself into sadness. The sadness was then converted into questioning. I questioned why it happened on both occasions.

“What happened?”

“Why did it happen?”

“When did it happen?”

“Who did it?”

“Where did it happen?”

It was only then when I watched the news on the television and computer that I later found out what truly happened in both cases.

******

On June 24th, 2007, after not communicating with anyone outside of his household (friends, co-workers, and family) for a few days, Chris Benoit killed his wife and only son in his house by the form of asphyxiation, or strangling. A short while later, he hanged himself and committed suicide.

On the month of August in 2011, Troy Raymond strangled his wife and killed her in their home. He would then “vanish” from the face of the earth after local police discovered her body lying dead in the crime scene. A few hours later, in a hotel in New Orleans, Louisiana, he shot himself in the head and died, committing suicide.


******


My questioning later turned itself into unease in the two times I found out what really happened. I asked myself the kind of questions you would expect to say yourself if you faced this same dilemma as me:

“Why?”

“How could this have happened?”

“WHY!?”

I couldn’t accept it at first, but I eventually came to terms with it. It happened and now they’re dead. I couldn’t do anything to help bring them back so I resigned to that fact of the matter. They really were gone. Such is life. It isn’t fair sometimes.

The more I looked back at their deaths the more it became clear to me. Their deaths were so………

…….alike.

They killed their loved ones and then themselves. They’re a spitting image of each other. It’s still uncomfortable and grim for me to think about even now, even after 10 have passed from the first incident and 6 years have passed from the second.

Their deaths, instead of giving us conclusive answers to their motives and actions, have only opened up more questions, questions in which we have no answer to. The questions I’ve asked myself when digesting the news a long time ago are still being uttered around their lives today. What were their motives? Did anyone notice any irregularities in their behavioral patterns in the days before their deaths? Were they hiding something? Et cetera, et cetera…..

The passing of time has slowly but surely helped us in uncovering just a few answers to the endless stream of questions. When brain analysts examined Chris’ brain to find any abnormalities, they discovered that he possessed the brain of an 85-year old Alzheimer’s patient, which, in broader terms, translates to a bad brain.

According to Troy Raymond’s sister, the couple had “marital issues” a bit before the crime was committed. In fact, it was Troy’s wife who wanted to file for divorce so that she could split up with him in the first place. This, in turn, only opened up even more questions from skeptical people like myself.

If Chris and Troy genuinely had problems with their loved ones, why did they show themselves in public with the appearance of a loving family who yielded to virtually nothing? I didn’t understand. On paper, they were one thing, but from behind the scenes, they were another. That’s what it looked like to me anyway. I still didn’t get it. It didn’t seem right to me. It was idiotic for me to think of them like that. Man, I was very naïve back then.

******

In March of 2004, at WrestleMania XX, after defeating Triple H and Shawn Michaels in the main event for the World Heavyweight Championship, Benoit was embraced by his family to bask in his massive accomplishment. It was a sight for us wrestling fans to witness. Beforehand, he was congratulated by Eddie Guerrero, a longtime friend of his and fellow world champion—WWE Champion to be exact at the time. And when they hugged each other after the final bell had rung, confetti started raining down on the how stage and the wrestlers. It was the absolute peak of Chris’ illustrious career. At long last, his hard work finally materialized to this one great moment of triumph.

In May of 2009, my class was getting ready for a school-wide event named “Sports Day”. It was a day where the students of the entire 6th grade faced off against each other with their classes to see who was the best of the pack. It was organized into various contests. Everyone in my class participated. If I remember correctly, I participated in 3, which was: a 100-meter relay, tug o’ war—where everyone and their momma was eligible--, and a three-legged race. I swear I had so much fun. Outside of these activities, I was allowed to buy candy from stands around the school and eat it in the event. It was all fun. My class was having fun. Mr. Raymond definitely had fun too. To make it better, his wife came to the school to visit us and her husband. She brought some treats for us to eat in-between the activities of the event. They were delicious. That was the only time I saw her when I was in intermediate school, and, according to my intuition, she looked to be in high spirits. You couldn’t sense anything remotely contrary to happiness had you been there at the school, reader.

******

So then, why?

Why?

Why did you do it, Chris Benoit?

Why did you do it, Mr. Raymond?

Upon further questioning myself, it finally hit me.

They were hiding something. That must be it. That was the conclusion I was able to rationally come up with on my own. There must have been things roaming around in their minds that bothered them to the point where they committed those acts of murder. That could be the missing link to both of these mysteries. Perhaps that can explain why Chris didn’t reveal the extent of his head injuries by the use of his brash wrestling moves like the diving headbutt just for the sake of creating a show for the fans, which caused him to have behavioral problems that ultimately killed his family and self. It can also explain why Mr. Raymond killed himself when the police found his wife’s body and suspected him of being the perpetrator. After the fact, they named him a “person of interest” in regards to the case, further proving the suspiciousness behind his actions.

To know the things they were hiding is another mystery in and of itself, so we’ll never truly know what were their legitimate motives. In Benoit’s case, people have theorized countless of times about how he died. Some say he was killed and somebody else must have killed his family instead, others speculate he sustained unreported concussions which damaged him to the point where he acted aggressively at random moments(the most acceptable for a large crowd), and a few have even concluded in their minds that steroids played a major role in the crime.

For Troy’s case, it is much more simple and direct. His verbal bouts with his wife must have had a clear cause to which they engaged in conflict. However, the clear cause will probably never be revealed by either side of the case out of sheer respect for each other’s privacy, and that’s fine. I don’t want to reignite a forgotten flame, so it’s best for me to not have them reminisce any bad memories.

Whatever the case, their last moments on this Earth ruined their legacies for countless of years to come. Even my memory of them has been permanently affected by this. Superficially, Chris Benoit and Mr. Raymond were good and kind men. They were one of a kind. But if you dig deeper into their lives, they were probably hiding something, and they didn’t want anyone to find out what that thing was. Whatever that thing may be, I simply don’t know. Now, when I think of both of these men, I can’t help but remember their deaths. It’s a thing I CAN’T IGNORE.

I will not ignore.

I will never ignore.

It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth every time I remember. I hate it, but I can’t avoid it.

When Chris Jericho, another close friend and fellow wrestling comrade of Benoit, was asked in a Q&A session on Reddit about the possibility of him entering the WWE Hall of Fame—a sort of legend’s club for wrestlers—he replied:

• “Never…. But that notwithstanding, you know, putting that aside, it tarnished the rest of life. I mean, you can’t say the name Chris Benoit without, uh, thinking about that. At least I can’t…There’s no way. I mean, how—first of all, how could you go up there and, you know, do a speech for him? How could you put together a video package and completely ignore all that had happened?”

His thoughts echo that of mine. It’s because of their resoundingly similar deaths that I can’t remember them as ever-loving saints from the past anymore.

******

To conclude, I’d like to write a couple of small letters to the two protagonists of this piece:

To Chris Benoit,

You were a hell of a wrestler. You attained many championships. You were highly regarded as a master of your craft. Everyone loved you. You had a great life. I still don’t completely understand why you did what you did in such an atrocious manner. You should’ve looked after yourself better. Your health was imperative to your well-being. Yeah, being an “old-school warrior” is a good title to have as a wrestler, but was it really worth it? I know this is futile since you’re already gone, but I can’t help saying it regardless. It’s just—you should’ve done more.

To Mr. Raymond,

Killing your wife was not the answer. It just wasn’t. The memories we shared within your classroom were very precious to me. I’m sure they were precious to you too when you were alive. They were, were they? Anyway, I believe I’m the only person as of now who has written about you and your death. Doing this helped put me at ease because I was finally able to break through my indecisiveness about writing this piece and allow my feelings to translate itself onto my notebook and let it speak for itself. In a way, I think of this as something befitting that of closure. I faced head-on the harsh reality that was your death and the details surrounding it. Additionally, your death has given me a learning experience, believe it or not. I learned to never judge a person based on only their looks. You taught me that lesson when we first met and you taught me that again when you pathetically died. So—good bye.

******

A large black cloud floats atop their names accompanied by the sheer shadow of enigma raining down on them. Thanks to their questionable actions, it will never go away.

Me vs Boredom

*written at approximately 8:30 P.M. on July 29th, 2017



I'm in a church.

I'm sitting down on a bench. I'm bored. I don't even know what time it is. It's probably around 8:30 in the night. A nice young lady is talking in front of me whilst standing behind a podium. It seems to me that she's preaching to the congregation about King Nebuchadnezzar and his adventures when he ruled Babylon some thousands of years ago. I've heard of this name before.

He's that guy with the long name who famously ruled over a vast empire in the Middle East--wait a minute. My sister, who's sitting next to me, is beginning to fuck around by sending me an empty envelope. Is she giving me trash? Well then, I'll show her the true meaning of fucking around (don't think wrong, reader). I'll send her a drawing of a man with a large head and a small body.

She replied with her writing "boi" underneath my drawing. That's it? You know what, I'll give her something better than just another ordinary drawing. Boom! Here's a Caveman SpongeBob, bitch! Holla at cha boi!

No reply, huh? That's what I thought. Point goes to me........................................................bitch.

I'm hungry right now. I'm craving a hamburger. I haven't eaten a thing since the morning. Damn my eating habits. This is what I get for regularly pulling all-nighters throughout the summer. I don't regret it though. Relaxation is bliss. Anyone who has the time to relax should use it. The human body eventually tires itself out if it works too hard for an extended period of time.

Man, my mind thinks of so many things when I get bored. Is that a good thing? I think it is. I mean, I've spent all this time contemplating with my thoughts about drawings and food while this lady is talking about something I've paid no honest attention to. What was she talking about, again?

My brain is being active, which is a good thing, right? That is a good thing, right? Right!? RIGHT!!??



Boredom wins Game 1 (Boredom leads series 1-0)

Time

Time

/tīm/

noun

definition: the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole (as given by Merriam-Webster)

It never stops.

It is constant.

It can be used as a unit of measurement.

It is cruel.

Time is a word inundated with definitions. It is a word everyone is familiar with. Of course, I’m no exception. It is ever-present in all the things we do in our lives. Even as I’m writing this sentence right now with my HP-branded gray laptop I’m taking a decent amount of time to finish it. Writing something about time takes time. Ugh, I think I’m wasting time doing this.

Time never stops. It doesn’t stop when you lay on your bed at night and take a nap; it doesn’t stop when you sit down near a table and eat your meal; and it certainly doesn’t stop when you’re doing nothing. It's not giving favors for anyone. It never has and it never will. Ask someone who has lived in the 19^th century to find out if it has. They’ll be sure to give you an answer. It’ll just take a little bit of time for me to actually reach them and ask them your question.

Time is constant. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Seconds have passed just now. Now minutes. Now hours. Now days. Now weeks. Now months. And now even years. How can this be possible? The answer is simple. It has just been ticking and tocking, slowly but surely. It will remain the same. It is the same as it has been 2,017 years ago. The people from that age have felt it and we are feeling it, too.

Time can be used as a unit of measurement. Creating things of any kind, big or small, take time to complete. It serves as a key factor in proposing, preparing, planning, and executing largely strenuous operations. This is true for other subjects as well, such as educational fields of study, ideologies, religious beliefs, and etc. In addition to that, take a good look around yourself, reader. Buildings, roads, computers, smartphones, televisions, vehicles, etc. Everything, even yourself, was created after a specific period of time. It took time for you to get bigger and bigger inside of your mother’s womb immediately after you were conceived. For every second that passes in this world, you get older, all thanks to the subtle work of time.

Time is cruel.

Father Time is an unforgiving beast. He is undefeated against everyone. Nobody has managed to defeat him. That is because everyone will inevitably reach their death when the time comes, myself included. Sooner or later I will go. Now I’m not going to lie when I say I’m scared of that. I genuinely am. I don’t want to go. I want to stay here on Earth and live for as long as I want to live but alas, that can’t happen. It’s a shame but that’s life. I’ve come to accept it because of that.

Death is not the only thing people are thinking of when it comes to time. Milestones, past events, future events, mistakes, accomplishments, emotions, memories…… I can go on and on and on. Nevertheless, time is tied to all of these things. The worst part about all of this is that you can never redo your entire life. You only have one go at this and when your life is done, that’s it. There is only one instance of you ever, and that’s you yourself. One person whose personality traits and appearance match exactly yours, to the tooth and nail, thereby enacting a distinct and unique identity. That, my fellow reader, is you.

Time is cruel, but it’s not defined as just cruel. Time can be wonderful also. Time can be wonderful as long as you choose to make the most out of it.

Inevitably, you too will succumb to the depths of time, just like any other living thing in this world. However, if you don’t let that fact get to you and afterwards make the most out of what limited time you have, you will then—and only then—be able to fulfill what things you have originally transpired to fulfill. You want to run a marathon? Do it. You want to get the job of your dreams? Work hard and you’ll get it in no time.

Basically, have fun and enjoy your life. Oh, and one more thing: don’t waste your time.

Allow Me to Introduce Myself

A microphone is standing stationary on a stage. It is enveloped with darkness. Not a thing can be seen or heard through the pitch-black color. You would think that something, or anything for that matter, might scare you in any second, even if that thing is remotely small and harmless. There is nothing. There are not even any seats in front of the stage. Along with the emptiness that’s prevalent on the stage, there is nothing on the other side of it also. There is just a working microphone on a stage and the color of black surrounding it along with the faint quietness that has accompanied it.

That is until a spotlight breaks out of nowhere and beams downward onto the microphone. Its sudden arrival interrupted the calm and stillness the darkness has exhibited throughout the entirety of the stage.  It’s as though the light has invaded its enemy's territory and the latter is not happy with the former’s unexpected arrival. After the spotlight’s outburst, someone somewhere is walking up to the microphone. It would appear that he is walking with the intention of saying something into the microphone, even though it’s apparent no one will be able to hear his words. Despite that, he continues to walk. He just has something he wants to say.

After a good seven to ten steps, he arrives and stops right in front of the microphone. He touches it three times to make sure he can hear the echo and prove it is working.

*poof*

*poof*

*poof*

He stands with a last-minute fit of hesitation about whether or not he should go through with this. Even though no one’s standing in front of the stage listening to him he still has that fear of what will happen if he goes through with his actions.

“Will it be bad if I say them?”

“Am I going to get hurt?”

“What if I say it in a way that people will misunderstand its true meaning and react the wrong way?”

“Is this going to matter?”

These questions and then some are bombarding his consciousness with excruciating doubt. Surely, he’s not the only one who experienced these emotions when doing these kinds of things, speaking their mind and all. This is to be expected, he thought. Upon thinking this, he is reminded by himself of his resolve about doing this and presses forward.

A minute or so has passed since he last checked the microphone so he touches it one more time just to make sure it’s still working.

*poof*

The result of the last examination was the same as this one so he took a deep breath right before he began his speech.

At long last, under his own power, he can now talk…

----------------------

Is this thing on?

If it is, well then, allow me to introduce myself.

My name is Pedro Romero. I am a male who was born in the country of the United States of America and 20 years old of age. I was born in 1996. I am an average person who has been having an average life in an average household with an average family. I am a fan of sports, music, and technology.

Some pretty average preferences, right? I know, it’s not very appealing and eye-opening to the mass world that is the internet if you want to attract attention towards yourself. Everyone else likes the things I like, so considering the uniqueness I have to the rest of the population, it’s not that great. Everything has been average for me, or well, that’s how I think it has been. However, a lot of thinking and reflection within myself after going through various experiences has lead me to believe that despite all of us liking nearly the same kind of things in this world, I believe that every single one of us each has a different upbringing that has shaped our personality and behavior that is unique to ourselves.

“Everyone has their own story” is what I like to say to myself after meeting a friendly stranger in a random place.

Everyone present has their beginning, their middle, and, eventually, their end. Everyone, even the dead, has had their own stories. I believe they also had a story they could call their own when they were alive. They definitely showed whatever emotion they could think of when they roaming this world. They must have also reflected upon their experiences, like what I’m doing right now. Additionally, they must have combated deep-rooted problems which affected their personal surroundings well-being. Some might have triumphed over these said problems, and some have perished to them. Whatever the case, it is unique and not average.

With that being said, I don’t think I’ve had an average life. Some things have happened in my life where I’m not able to say that I’m average anymore. For example, I’m an introvert. I’m shy. I’ve never been someone who is able to commence a conversation with people I really want to talk to. In other words, I’m not good at making friends. And you know what? That’s a good thing. No, I’m not saying it’s a good thing for me to be shy. That’s not my point. I’m saying that my reflection and thinking has brought me to the point where I have to face this issue and acknowledge it. Acknowledgment towards a problem can eventually lead to resolution and growth.

Anyway, my issue proves that I’m not living an average life. If my life was average and non-eventful, I’d be tortured with the feeling and dread of being ordinary. Ordinary is boring. Fortunately, I’m not ordinary. Neither is everyone else. I have my life in which I’m proud of, be it good or bad when compared to the rest. I’m able to say whatever is on my mind about whatever topic that is appealing to me and only me. I’m happy about that. I’m sure someone else on the other side of the world as of the moment I’m typing this is feeling the same way.

What I’m doing is something that is not concrete. I don’t even know if I’m going to continue this in, like, a month from now. This is simply an experiment. I simply want to make a blog by me, for me, and, perhaps, in the future, for you too, reader. The topics vary, to no surprise. I’m sure all of the popular bloggers on the internet are doing the same way I’m doing right now but that doesn’t matter. I don’t care about sizing up to those people who are higher in fame and credibility than me. I really don’t. I just want to talk about any subject in a genuine fashion. I want a platform where I can do just that and not be afraid of any repercussions. This blog can be just that. I’m in control of what I type/say.

I’m making my own stage.

So, from this point forward, on the twenty-sixth day of July in the year of 2017, I’m starting this blog.

Consider this to be the first blog entry from an introvert such as myself. Until my next entry, I'll see you later.