Wednesday, November 17, 2004 ;
1:16:00 AM
something Ionesco said:
"And why am i writing this journal? What am i hoping for? Whom can these pages interest? Is my unhappiness, my distress communicable? Who would take on that burden? It can have no significance for anyone. Nobody knows me. If i were a writer, a public figure, it might perhaps assume some interest... And yet surely i am like everyone else. Anbody can therefore recognize himself in me."
speaks of how inadequate language is in communicating emotions. the connections of words to their referents is so arbitrary - how can u say u know exactly what the other person is feeling when those emotions are expressed so limitedly within the boundaries of language?
and also. who cares?
i tried to help. apparently i failed. sigh dunno la. maybe i should just detach myself - if everything i do is just useless and forgotten in one mistake. i hate feeling like crap - coz i tried and i messed it up. untactful, bitching.. right. i guess i'll just mind my own business.
hurt - for the weirdest reasons. sigh. leave it to God i guess. i'm leaving it to God.
every day is a new day ♥
