One more paper to go, and I’ll be freed; from studying, from exams, and into the unknown. Like an overgrown turtle, from a pet tank into the lake.
Feeling emotional, and moody, and kinda whimsical (slightly more towards the capricious side), but that’s probably caused by a friend who is depressed. And then I began wondering about the limits of oneself.
Say, if anything is possible, then how could we say we are who we are?
But if we really are not something, can we ever be that something? (But science shows us that we can change. Very literally speaking.)
So then, whatever we say, will hold no truth in the future because all things can change?
It’s all very abstract, but it’s easier that way. No details. No back stories. Just a thought, the flow of words to taste and swirl about your tongue. Feeling the thoughts toying my brain gently, and stick a knife at its back, and twist it.