Jorge Luis Borges has put my thoughts precisely in the best way possible. The way I look at my life experiences — any experience that evokes strong emotional reaction — is like raw material that I can use to develop my art.

I have no art to show as of now. I blog and I make content, but they’re merely expansions of my experiences; ways for me to process what I’ve experienced, but nothing that would be classified as art.

The powerful thing about thinking of experiences as art materials such is that it gives me a sense of purpose when I see none. I may feel like I have sunk to the bottom of the pit, with no way out — but if I just think beyond that moment, I will realize that when I get through it, I would have garnered juicy passage that no one else has.

I don’t think there’s a greater form of true self-expression than the art that you create. It abides by no rules, it listens to no one. Its intent is purely the act of creating itself, to enlighten no one but the artist herself. This art can come in different forms, but I think it’s undeniable when you spot it. The art speaks for the person behind it. There’s no need to justify it or to make it useful. The art just is.

For many years, I preferred pen on paper. Words are unpolished, but the physical constraint forces you to convey your thoughts more efficiently. I also have an online journal for rants; there, I prioritize getting my feelings out over coherency. Sometimes it be like that.

Recently, I started posting my journal entries here instead. Emotionally, it’s a terrible idea. I lay awake at night, thinking about the stupid things I’ve written that day and do everything I can to prevent myself from coming back here and deleting it. Was I too insensitive? Self-conscious? Immature? Stupid?

Rationally, I want to get to the root of my fears. I want to understand why the way I come off to you matters so much to me, and how I can prevent that affecting my work. I want to become more poised, albeit faked at first. Perhaps I’m all the things I fear; but they’re poor excuses for inaction.

Text, and other pieces of writing, are precious reminders of the past. I went through old emails of my first hotmail.com yesterday, and I was immediately flooded with memories about my school days. Email chains between friends, self-email reminders to study SAT vocabulary, one-line emails from friends asking about Spanish homework. I deleted that email right after. Memories can last forever, but the evidence doesn’t need to sit there. It would be extremely easy for me to just forget about these old emails, and unearth them again decades later. But I see no reason to leave a digital footprint if the only time I unearth it is when I’m grappling what to do with it. Thank you for being part of my past, but goodbye.

I guess journals are a bit different. They’re a way for me to remember who I once was, no longer am, and still am. Most of my entries seem like useless rants, but years later they become key pieces of my identity. Getting rid of these entries would be like erasing private thoughts that only I have access to. They are precious because they are solely mine.

Now, I journal as a reminder to do something for myself only. What’s the point of investing in a hobby if my ulterior motive is to profit off of it? The moment I make it profitable, it stops being about myself and starts being about what others want. I risk losing the creative autonomy that, once lost, will be easy to forget. Journaling reminds me that I am the only audience I need to cater to. I am writing for the 13 year-old me, the 30 year-old me, and the versions of me who need a reminder of what I stand for.

Social media is amazing when you go in it looking for inspiration. It’s awful when you go in it looking for a distraction. I would love to say that I have given up social media altogether, but it’s hard to stay away from it when I’m posting on those very platforms every week.

I redownloaded TikTok last week, and it was amazing. YouTube can already be addictive when I’m bored, but TikTok is just on another level. Ever wonder why you don’t see the time when you’re in the app? It’s the easiest thing to do whether you have one minute, or four hours, to spare.

But there’s a reason for that. The amount of unique TikTok content is just incredible. Somehow, a lot of people are able to find their niche and find a solid fanbase. A guy telling storytimes about the 7 year-old daughter of Japanese millionnaires he nannies for. A female magician shows us wowing her fans on Omegle. Your favorite artist. You get it. There is something in it for everyone.

TikTok also makes it so easy for you to create content on existing content. Reading Reddit horror stories, showing you things you msised from popular films, or retelling riddles from the internet. You can be unique by recreating content. You don’t need to have an incredible talent to create content. You just have to be creative.

I love social media, but it’s just not sustainable to have it accessible at all times of the day. If I did, it would be incredibly easy for me to overconsume. Feeling bored? Tap on Instagram stories. Have 2 hours to spare? Swipe up on TikTok. Need something to fall asleep to? Browse YouTube. I would need to fight against the algorithms that were designed precisely to make me stay, and I just don’t have time for that.

I feel like I’m constantly waiting for something to happen. That perhaps my present life is just a build-up for something better. It feels like I’ve been living for the future since forever. Since college became a goal when I was still years away from attending it, and my career seemed like an impending do or doom.

Now that I’m out of that chasing mentality and lead a calmer life, that nagging feeling still seeps into my mind every once in a while. Do I not like my life? What am I waiting for?

I feel a need to run away from my current life and re-invent myself completely. Whenever I move away, I feel it’s necessary to leave the past behind to fully devote myself to this new environment. But I also do it because I want to spare myself from seeing the friendships that will fade away.

But I think this trauma-triggered response has also reinforced my main life goal: to live the world. To learn a new language, struggle with the cultural shock, and become as close as I can to living like a local. Complete, then repeat. This process of learning, struggling, and adjusting is what makes my life meaningful. And I like to do it by myself. I guess I fear that if I hold on to my past life too much, it will prevent me from fully living in the present.

I preach living in the present, yet I am constantly planning for that to come. To live in the present is to acknowledge that your current lifetime will go by faster than you can say “I need more time.” To truly live life as you know best, because there are no second chances for time.

As a young person still, I guess I am still reinventing myself because it’s a palpable reminder of my mortality. I’ve been here in Taiwan for over 14 months now, and even if I stay here for another year or so, I will be gone faster than I can say “I came here to escape COVID” (too late, anyway). It’s been easier to consider what matters to me knowing that I will be gone soon. It’s really simple, actually: my hobbies, family, work. Everything else is secondary. Once I formed this hierarchical pyramid in my mind, I stopped obsessing over the secondary factors. There’s no time for them.