PICTURE THE SCENE.
You’ve been persuaded by a friend to undergo a psychological experiment of some kind, though you haven’t been given any details. The friend appealed to your innate curiosity and similar interests, and you agreed, with a mix of equal parts enthusiasm and trepidation. You turn up at the address they gave you, and they’re waiting there, outside the house. You follow them into the house, and every door you open quickly shuts behind you with an unnerving finality.
Your friend stops by a large iron door and swings it open wide. It’s a small room with metal walls and a metal ceiling and floor. Metal surrounds you from all sides. The room is brightly lit, but there is nothing to look at. The room is completely empty. You turn to your friend, who gestures for you to enter. Hesitantly, you step into the metal cube. You know what to do, your friend says with a smile. Then they swing the iron door shut.
You quickly turn back and call for them, unsure as to whether or not they’re joking. The fact is you haven’t the faintest clue what you’re meant to do in this place. The emptiness unsettles you, and you feel extremely self-conscious and unsure of yourself. You feel as if you’re missing something obvious that’s preventing you from beginning what is evidently the task at hand. You begin to question your own intellect, the value of your existence. You begin to wonder if you ever did anything worthwhile with your life, anything worth remembering. You look into the vast expanse of metallic silver in front of you, and your reflection stares back, in its eyes a profound look of disorder and fear.
That’s how I feel, gazing pensively at my reflection in the monitor, as I attempt to write my first blog post.(Well, not quite. I exaggerated some parts. But I am a tad unsure of what to do.
The thing is: I love writing. It’s my passion and my refuge. It’s my obsession and my asylum. It’s appealing to me not only as a form of escapism but also as the surest way of immersing yourself within your own imagination, in a world that is completely unique and inescapably, utterly, yours. Having said all that, however, I find it difficult to write anything concerning myself, because, to be blunt, I’m not my all-time favourite subject. In fact, I’m not very interesting to be honest. My average day consists of college, followed by homework, followed by a short spell of piano playing, and then a few hours of Minecraft; then dinner, more Minecraft, and bed. Unless it’s a weekend, in which case, it’ll be just Minecraft.
And I’m not going to try and change that. I LIKE Minecraft.
What I will do is try and make what I say sound interesting – if I find that my thoughts and whimsical ideas are at least marginally more appealing than Vogon poetry, then I’ll be happy!
And I do have a fair few whimsical ideas. My mind is a smorgasbord of ‘what if’s and remarkable ideas and passionate opinions. Unfortunately, not many of these thoughts manage to find themselves at the forefront of my mind. Most just stay swimming around my subconscious like a hive of lethargic bees, surfacing only long enough for me to think “yeah, I should do something about that,” and then forget about them almost immediately.
So I thought it’s about time I got some of these ideas and views out of my head and into the open.
So
Hey! My name’s Oll. What’s up?
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