For some strange reason, its always easier to write at night. After the day is spent, words seem to flow with so much ease. Ideas come randomly, I suddenly want to create. I guess I'll write.
I have this thing about me in that I don't care what people think about me. To a certain extent, cuz I seem to really want to make great impressions. I never want the other person to get the wrong idea from me. Yet, its so hard when I'm filled with so many traits. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a poser, or someone trying hard to be accepted. I just want to be understood. Period.
In the 23 years that I've lived, I know that I'm not like a lot of people. I'm different in many ways [aren't we all?]. Sometimes, I don't know who I am. I was on the train the other day, reading an ad about some school of philosophy. It asked if you ever wondered "who am i? What am I doing here?" I laughed so hard as I read it, and then my laughter subsided as I realized that I've felt like that many times. Deep down, I know who I am, but I wonder if I'm giving off the right message. Sometimes, in my quest for laughter, I may come off as immature..and sometimes while deep in thought, I might seem a little to stiff, on the edge of morbidity. What u radiate determines who u attract. I'm always trying to fine-tune my radiations. Like putting out the cheese for the mouse.
I guess I'm blabbing at this point. Nobody reads this anyway, except for you.
hahahaha..funny how "you" can stand for anybody who's reading, if indeed they are reading. Which brings me to this question: If a Dominican from Brooklyn writes a blog and no one is there to read it, does it exist?