Keenly he observes his fellow human animals. There is not a man alive whose character Yesenin will not instinctively attempt to decipher, sizing up his general disposition, temper, comfort levels, and excitability.

This is not information that presents itself readily and immediately upon first contact. Thus, Yesenin may maintain an air of reserve and psychological distance at first, until "sufficient data" has been collected. Among those with whom he wishes to ingratiate himself, he maintains this distance with his fair measure of tact - adopting a trademark charm and decorum until he is sure how much of himself he can present without offense. Those with whom he may see no possibility of comfortable interaction will see quite a different Yesenin - cold, nervous, reticent, and outright condescending.

Labels: MBTI/ Socionics

If I fall short of the standard I set myself, what's there left in this huge, impersonal world?

If I fall short of my ideals with no logical means to work out wherein the problem actually lay, what's there left of me?

The fact that logic doesn't hold the key to all answers irritate me.
The fact that the answers may be undesirable and ugly bother me.
Because while I logically know I should take it, work on it, I can't help but get affected.

So useless.

The flaws that disturb me so also lie in myself. Such a simple fact, yet holding such great damage.

I can almost feel my world shifting, faultlines appearing beneath my feet.

Honestly, what is this?

Obvious solutions lie in reach, but I know they won't apply, not wholly, not really.

They don't reach me. They rarely do.

The storm continues raging, in a world that may be standing on the brink of destruction. To some, it will almost seem like a tsunami in a bottle, one that is insignificant in the view of larger concerns. To some, it beckons the slightly condescending, pacifying tone one would use with a distraught child, with attempts to state firmly that this is easily avoided.

The words are lost in the winds that howl. The intent is lost in the storm as it batters down on an instinctive defence. Why should it not? They who look upon that world as a glass bottle see not the impact every thread has to the completion of the fabric. To a pyramid of cards, every one card holds such great significance to the structure standing- even more so when the card forms the foundation. Would you not panic too if you were a ship, watching as fire burnt down the masts and your sail floats as a shroud in the sea?

The storm is here, but the typhoon is lurking.

It was sobering to see how our paths deviated.
In a number of years, a different crowd. Vastly varied experiences, separate circles, a whole different destiny.

This time, it's just a familiar face from primary school. But I suppose it's a warning of the fate that awaits the rest whose lives I met.

When our circles grow so different, will our lives intersect again?

If I could, I would have frozen time and refused progress. Yet in doing so, the key to change would be discarded. The darkness beyond which holds success and failures remain a mystery.

The world continues turning.

Maturity.
Isn't there supposed to be a difference between mature and insightful?

What I think maturity is... To an extent the recognition of one's duties. Because the foundation of our life lies in our relationships with people.

It never is about ourselves. Or it shouldn't solely be.

Maturity then... Would be the recognition of the duties to people beyond yourself, for you never are the center of the world. Maturity would be the recognition of the duties one has to the people they love. To the people they are close to. To their friends. And to the people they do not know, and yet are connected to by virtue of a shared society, a shared world. People who may fall through the cracks, people who you may unwittingly threaten by going about what you see as everyday behaviour.

Giving what is at first yours to have, to those connected to you, albeit remotely.
Giving what will not hurt you to give, yet will benefit others to have.
And the epitome of maturity- giving selflessly to even those who will not give you anything in return, just because they need it.

I suppose my definition of maturity differs from many others'.
While it does though, it doesn't mean to say I will dismiss their definition of maturity.
Yet if they don't have a definition for maturity I will definitely use mine as the yardstick.

In which, then, I'm not mature.

Is it better to have dreamed and failed, than to never have dreamed?

It's as though I suddenly realise that I've gradually walked into a fog. Those times when my inadequacy creeps up to me.
A fog which obscures my past, and in doing so makes the future treacherous.

That sense of inadequacy doesn't necessarily cripple me emotionally. But like the fog, it's disorienting.

Solutions may be within arm's reach, but I don't see it. Even if they're basic advice anyone can come up with. Even if I possessed something to dispel the fog, I can't find it anymore.

It's these times that I find... I'm all talk and no action. Absolutely lacking substance.

I'm powered by ideals- but so what? There are others less vocal about theirs, yet at least achieved their ideal. And me... I haven't.

I tell myself that I tried and can't help being turned down. But is that merely an excuse? Something comforting, such that I can sink to the second best option.
I tell myself that I'll pursue it after I obtain the necessary working experience or academic qualifications. But surely I know that I haven't tried all the possible opportunities before giving up. Surely I know that brick walls will emerge anytime, regardless of my accreditations.

Surely I know that if I keep allowing myself to, I will never achieve my ideals?

And yet I don't seem to know how to avoid it. I want to reach my ideals by virtue of myself. Is it that unreasonable? And yet it seems that everyone else has some kind of driving force that puts mine to shame...

Sometimes I wonder if I would have it easier if I had more materialistic ideals, more simple and average goals.

But that wouldn't make me me anymore.

The fog will fade as it came.
Soon I will be able to form the silhouette of my surroundings, and be able to put colour onto the objects about me.
Soon the musings of the fog will leave me, bringing me to repeat the cycle all over again- starting with ideals first.