I have decided that what I want to do with the rest of my life, which is probably another 38 years, is to study more and to shop less, to be healthy, and to keep writing.
I watched two German films: “Er ist Wieder Da” and “Im Labyrinth des Schweigens”. The film-makers of these films seemed to try to remind people to remember the mistakes Germany made. They tried to make people remember it was the people who chose Hitler to lead the nation. Admitting one’s mistakes takes courage, but it is the most important thing because only then one can learn to make a different choice.
It is also a reason why I find keeping a journal helpful: I can see the pattern of my thoughts in writing. By analysis, I could be able to predict my future actions, and (hopefully) change my future by altering my behavior.
But what do I want to do with my life? If I could do whatever I want in the world, I would want to write well.
If I am conscious of my behavior pattern, I can work on changing the course of my action. I want to be competent!
But perhaps one is not capable of learning all the languages in the world because learning a language is like having a relationship.
Writing the 75th piece of my journal entry makes me a little nervous because it’s supposed to be better than the first one.
It seems like R and I cannot disconnect. Last time he told me that he lost his interest in philosophy, but now he says that perhaps some questions should be left to philosophers because science cannot know the answer to everything, and he appears enthusiastic.
Once our conversation starts, it goes on and on. Why do I ask questions? Because I have questions to ask. Why does he answer them? Because most of the time he has the answers. It’s a simple give-and-take relationship. The only problem is we are of different sex, and if things go wrong, I mean, if we develop some kind of relationship other than friends or a teacher-student one, it may not look too pretty.
At least I know my pattern now: I always throw myself at him when I feel the most confident. When I feel confident about my writing, I think I can do whatever I want because it’s all about my art, and I start to do what I did before. It’s a self-destructive behaviour pattern.
I have no idea what R thinks about me at all, but I guess he cannot help himself when it comes to helping me, because philosophy is his speciality.
If I let myself be a writer, I won’t be afraid of anything. Being a sincere writer is a way to live freely, yet, like everyone else, a writer needs to be responsible for her own actions.