When I was a kid, I'd often get so absorbed in a book that I wouldn't notice what was happening in the room or if someone was talking. Nowadays I can't read three lines without losing focus because my thoughts keep interrupting me. I wonder if I've ruined my attention span by browsing random shit on the internet too much or why this has happened.

I wish I could afford to live somewhere with a fireplace. I love them so much. I love the warmth, I love the smell, I love staring into the fire and dozing off on the couch because I feel that relaxed. I miss it.

I just realized my wife looks just like my childhood crush. Crysta from Ferngully. I guess I have a type.

One time when I was younger (maybe 10 or 11 years old) my grandma on my mom's side was reading the paper and said someone with the same name as my uncle on my dad's side was in the section for arrest warrants. She didn't know it was actually him and didn't mean to upset me. She was just reading the paper, saw a familiar name, and said it before thinking. I wasn't mad at her for telling me. But it did upset me for awhile that my uncle got arrested and I didn't understand why he'd do that (check fraud). It's not a terribly wrong crime, not murder or anything, but still a shock to my innocent mind. He was my favorite uncle. I still have the stuffed Dalmatian he gave me when I was 4. I just didn't want to believe he could do something so bad. A few months ago, I was reading the warrants page from my hometown, thinking I'd find someone from high school on there since one of my old classmates shared it, and that same uncle was on there. This time for drugs. That I understand even less. He had two small children in the house, what if they saw him high? Or got in his stash? He's also getting divorced because he apparently beat up his wife. Since his ex wife has drug and mental health issues too, my grandma on my dad's side is taking care of his sons. I still love him since he's family, but he needs some serious help. 10 year old me would be devastated right now.

Back when I was not even old enough to go to school, it hadn't occurred to me that different skintones exist. If someone's skin was beige or brown, I assumed that it was just a tan. So when I saw a black person for the first time, I thought "Wow. I didn't know people could get that tan, cool!" The dumbness of me... lol For reference I live in a country where most people are white.

At what point does someone count as white to the average white person? Like my kids are half Euro/half Philippine raised in the US. Obviously Asians won't accept anyone who isn't over 95%. Like, would my kids count? Would my grandkids? Growing up my best friend was 75% white 25% native American and he always counted as white.

As a child/teenager, I used to trace and copy other people's artwork and then tell people it's my own. I did this because I loved drawing, but I sucked at it and failed to understand that this isn't a talent you're just born with, but that you have to practise to get there. I was ashamed of my own drawings, I felt they were too bad for someone who likes doing it. I feel bad for that now, because I lied to people, especially to my parents who always were so proud of me.

When I was eleven years old, my mom used to force me to hang out with this boy because she was friends with his mother. I never really liked him. he was kind of cocky and spoiled. we were the same age but he was bigger and stronger than me. so one day we were in my house and my mom and his mom were out getting coffee or something like that. when we went up the stairs, he got to the top before me and he spread his arms so that I couldn't get past him. I was still on the steps and he was blocking the way for me. he said something like "I got here first now you have to do something for me." he always did that. according to him, every time he 'beat me' at something I had to do something for him. I think any other day I would have submitted and done whatever he said just so that he'd drop the subject. But I was really frustrated that day and I said "I'm not doing anything for you, move out of the way." But he wouldn't move. I don't even remember what it was he wanted me to do. It was probably something really dumb. He said that I had to. Those were 'the rules.' And he was jabbing his finger in my chest. I don't really know what happened next. I think I yelled at him. Or I said something that really pissed him off. But then he and shoved me and I fell down the stairs. I don't really remember the actual fall. It was just like, he shoved me, then everything went black, then I was crying my eyes out while my mom held me because I was so sure that my arm was broken. But turns out it wasn’t actually broken, it just hurt a lot. My mom still made me hang out with him after that, which sucked because I was terrified of him from then on. I kind of pushed that all to the back of my mind once I stopped hanging out with him, but I realize now, six years later, that my dreams of falling off of cliffs and buildings are due to my falling down the stairs. Also, ever since he pushed me down the stairs, I have done this thing where I purposefully jump off the last five or six steps every time I’m coming down the stairs. I don’t know why. I think I just do it to show myself that I can and that it isn’t scary. I don’t know if that makes sense. The whole thing was dumb and I wish I could completely forget it.

I'm gonna be honest here, when people discuss incels they always take the cream of the shit-crop as example. Trust me, I've been at the point of unquestioned selfhatred and involuntary celibacy, and I can asure you that most of these people are just really sad, do not feel entitled nor hold any unreasonable grudges against anyone other than theirself. Maybe I take the term "Incel" too loose, but to take the delusioned fools that have stared into the abyss of hatred and theoretical social-research as the prime example of an incel is like using a neonazi as the example for a conservative.

I found my old prom photos. On one hand, I hate looking at them because back then, I was fat and that dress was not flattering and my makeup looked mediocre at best. But on the other hand... it makes me feel good about myself now. It reminds me how much weight I've lost and how much better I actually look. I even tried that old dress on to see how it fits me now, and actually... it looks really good. I'm very tempted to alter it and take in some of the fabric (since it's actually too big now) and find an excuse to wear it somewhere.