[denisarose]

On being idle.

After handing in my thesis, attending a conference and fulfilling other familiar obligations, I allowed myself a full week of refraining from engaging into any tasks. I tried to be idle. Of course, avalanches of guilt poured from all directions of time and space. I grew up in a household where relaxing was the tuberculosis of states. You must find something to do before someone sees you and catches it too. I am also burdened by a constant need to understand my negative moods and elevate them rather than be suffocated under the avalanche. So I opened my journal with the purpose of addressing the benefits of being idle in spite of all the guilt that renders me useless. I wrote the title you can see in the picture for what was supposed to be my journal entry for the day. While pondering on my next line I couldn't help but lean back in my chair and laugh. I was about to work to explain the benefits of being idle. As you can see through this: I am still not, in fact, idle.

[fundamentalcherrytree]

So, I ended up finishing my book...

Was not expecting to finish it today, but man, it was too good to put down!

[denisarose]

fine, I'll grab mine as well

[poetrybykeira]

imagine being a celebrity and the fandom of a book assigns you as their top faceclaim for a character. that'd be heaven, in my opinion. heaven.

[denisarose]

Imagine it's a character you found annoying throughout the book. Would hurt a little

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

I’ll never forget the fanfic space on wattpad back in 2016-2017’ish where its culture was that writers would not post their new chapters until they reached x amount of votes (kudos) and comments. I mean I’d never judge anyone for how they chose to update their fics even though I didn’t agree with them. but like. it was the entire wattpad fanfic culture back then that made most writers believe they had to set these specific numbers of votes and comments that they must reach first before they posted the next chapters. so if you were on the fanfic corner of wattpad during that time, you’d most likely have seen fics where it said in the chapter something like “50 votes and 20 comments for the next chapter!” and it was literally the norm and so normalized that I didn’t see anything weird about it back then. but looking back, years after I’ve left wattpad for ao3, yeah that culture as a whole was weird and it shaped writers into thinking that they wrote for the sake of shallow engagement instead for the joy of getting to create, it shaped writers into thinking that their fics’ worth was decided and dictated by strangers’ approval. and then tiktok became a thing and this mindset continued. not to mention how wattpad is full of ads now unless you pay the site monthly for a premium, ad-free service.

so like. man, this is why I love ao3. there’s none of these capitalism or algorithm bullshit on ao3. just writers creating out of love and passion. everybody say thank you ao3

[denisarose]

Similarly, I’ve experienced transforming my art to please the shallow numbers on TikTok rather than do what felt alright for me. It got to the point where I was creating what the platform wanted to push forward for visibility and neglected what I actually wanted to make.

[denisarose]

No matter how busy and hectic life gets, I will never live without creating. At least one line must be written or one flower painted.

[denisarose]

I see people yearning for the days of childhood before worrying existed. I envy that nostalgia. I don't find comfort in those memories as they still tear apart who I am today.

[denisarose]

My Achievements Made Me an Impostor

There was a strange goal running quietly underneath my entire university experience. 

It was to make people think I was smart.

So I read the books, went to lectures, and handed all the assignments on time. But every seminar felt like an audition. Every comment I made was calculated to sound just insightful enough without revealing that I was terrified someone would realise I wasn’t actually intelligent. 

I did well academically. My essays and exams got high marks, I gained knowledge and experience. My thesis was marked with the high grade I hoped for. But when I first saw that grade, my first thought wasn’t My effort was worth it, I wrote a good thesis. 

It was Perfect, this keeps up the appearance. 

The grade didn’t make me feel intelligent. It made me feel like I’d successfully maintained my disguise. 

This pursuit was fueled by insecurity. It was corrosive but also productive, since it did push me to seek knowledge. But I was, and still am, too blind to actually see everything I learned and how I was progressively growing as a person. 

Insecurity distorts my achievements.

It turns them into bottles of water I crawl to in the desert that I chug hastily just to hurry and find the next one before people see I am thirsty. 

I don’t take time to appreciate my growth. I don’t know how to deal with the fear between achievements. 

I still carry this fear. We live in a world where daring people grab opportunities. My insecurities keep my hands tied as I watch my chances fly higher than I can reach. 

So I pretend I’m courageous. I pretend to be smart. Because only that made-up version of myself could handle new challenges. 

Why is it easier for me to believe the person I invented myself to be can handle anything, but absolutely unacceptable to realise I am not two people? I am one person who is capable of achieving what I thought to be unreachable, but who is human enough to be scared, doubtful, and cautious enough to consider the consequences. 

I wish to learn the art of celebrating my achievements, without dismissing them as unimportant just because I was the one to obtain them. I want to believe that the person who succeeds is the real me and not some made up version of myself.

I know the next achievement won’t make me feel intelligent either. And perhaps none will, until I learn to stop treating every success as evidence that I am fooling everyone instead of evidence that I am capable. The achievements were never a problem. They were simply never allowed to count. 

[simplezest]

Is this how it’s going to be for the rest of our lives? Time dissolving into thick dark fog, things that happened last week seeming years ago and things that happened last year feels like yesterday 

[flowersforfrancis]

I adore messy annotations.

A page suffocated by scrawls, scribbles, lines, arrows, circles, highlights, all near illegible. As though the reader couldn’t contain those thoughts. They were overpowered by emotions and ideas. A ruler-less underline because you read that quote and the pen couldn’t be in your hand any quicker. Scribbled sentences that require the book to be turned upside down or on its side to be read again. Exclamation marks, because you’re at loss for words and the author said it best. Books of mine start with ruled lines and perfect hand writing, but by the end are sometimes too messy to be reread. I find messy annotations the most beautiful, the most intimate.

[denisarose]

I read what I wish I wrote,

And I write what I'd never read.

[joytri]

Love how in classic literature, authors spend three pages describing a street whilst casually mentioning the death of the protagonist in one line.

[denisarose]

Don't be fooled by effortlessly perfect outcomes, unnecessarily advertised.

They usually hide behind opaque fences,

In a garden of failures and sweat.

[quotefeeling]

“You will never be able to experience everything. So, please, do poetical justice to your soul and simply experience yourself.”

— Albert Camus

[academia-lucifer]

@academia-lucifer

[denisarose]

The feminine urge to go buy second hand books that you've never heard of.

[aliennasaprincess]

other languages don't even have futu-ți morții ma-tii. sad for them

[denisarose]

You can use it as a template and add whatever you want in between. Futu-ți *insert whatever you want* mă-tii.

[denisarose]

I haven't seen this mentioned around so I will bring it into the attention of others, with the intent of generating discussions.

Daisy & Billy's romance tryout is unnatural and, frankly, unnecessary.