I mean, fair enough.
Three years is enough time, I think. Long enough to reset, refocus, reassess, although not quite long enough to get used to it all.
With the majority of my second degree finished, and the majority of my life ahead of me, I return to this dusty stage, this unattended soapbox. Perhaps it's comforting, or more likely just as distressing as it has always been. Distressing in that, on the one hand, it ultimately feels odd after having so many better things to do. On the other, that it has waited this whole time. A silent reminder to codify my existence.
In the coming month, I shall give in-depth accounts of my time and thoughts. Less for the public eye (though I feel the growl of an ego) and more to remember as many specifics as possible. After all, what good is a story-teller that can't remember the beginning verses?
I have more questions nowadays than ever (which I prefer; I would rather be pleasantly inundated with a plethora of mind palaces to explore than to go hungry and introverted). As I gather my memories, I feel one thing repeated over and over: I am not who I was, and I'm not yet who I am.
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