Thursday, 13 March 2014

No-phone journal: Entry 2

Going against a habit isn't simple. How much of our life is dependent upon customs and habits?
The 1st thing I did after I got up, going into the living room, was touching my phone, then I realised right away that the day before a decision was made to go without my phone. Luckily that wasn't a violation of my vow (if it could be called a vow), for the phone had been switched off. I understand myself well, saying no to something is not easy unless I create some obstacles. Having no self-restraint, I can't refrain checking fb now and then if it's not deactivated, because as long as it's out there, there's always somebody saying something, writing on my wall, sending me a message, responding to my comments, and as long as there's a possibility of somebody saying something, there's a need to see it. Also because it has happened a few times that fb allows only 99 notifications, so when there are more, the oldest ones get lost. Deactivating my account creates an obstacle, makes coming back to it hard work. Not hard, of course, I can simply log in, but the moment I log in, it feels different, or maybe it's simply because at that point to come back I know that there's nothing waiting to be seen, and there won't be for another while until I make it known that here I am again.
Similarly, here, to say no to my phone I have to switch it off. Otherwise I now and then have to grab it, touch a button for no reason and put it down. Especially when, these days, with some expectations, I checked it quite often, or simply placed it near my arm and did my own things and waited, and once in a while glanced at it in suspense and then in sorrow. Having switched it off, I have nothing to wait for, if messages came, I wouldn't know. This also makes returning hard work, I would have to switch it on, press hard on a button (and pressing hard means a firm decision, not a thoughtless act as this morning) and then enter my code. 
Waiting wears one out. It's eating me. It eats me up. Eats me away.  
Sometimes we wait, without hope, even with the certainty that something won't happen, yet we continue waiting anyway, longing, as it's a part of our nature, to long, to wish, to cling hopelessly to things. Even if we get disappointed, even if our hopes get crushed, next time we still wait and hope and expect. Because otherwise, everything is life is a matter of indifference, and nothing matters any longer. In that case, life wouldn't be life. Sadness, disappointment, grief... don't destroy one, they make me feel alive, feel like a human being, know that more than existing I'm living. 
Sorrow I do feel, but it's a relief to feel that I'm living. In fact, at some point it starts to feel like, the more hopeless the waiting is, the more painful it becomes, the more I feel alive as the anguish cuts into my heart and makes me more highly conscious of my own existence. As though I now and then do a hopeless, reckless, irrational thing, for the mere purpose of this certainty, this relief. 
But then I don't know. Sometimes it's distressing when some negative thoughts creep in and cloud my mind and distract me from anything else, as I feel alienated from people and from myself, as I feel utterly alone, waiting, yearning for something unattainable. But why unattainable? That's such a beautiful word, holy, solemn. Using it in this circumstance corrupts the word, dirties it. The word's too..... to be used here. In a certain mindset I always exaggerate a few things, once it's over and I get out of the mindset, I look back in amazement and alarm, and then embarrassment, even shame, wishing to deny my own ridiculousness. So, soon, in a matter of days, at most weeks, I'll look back and laugh at my past self, not only my yearning, but also my waiting, perhaps even my decision to leave my phone for a while on account of some trifles whilst making it appear like a challenge, a political statement, an outstanding act. Ah no, I've said it already, it's not a political statement, a conscious attack on people's dependence on such tools. Entirely personal, personal to the point of being ridiculously egoistic and childish. I know it, yet do it anyway. And next time I'll do it again. Being silly may, now and then, bring me some indescribable pleasure. Possibly even more than solemn rationality. Or rational solemnity.

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