Unconsciously Quirky

I started reading Paper Towns by John Green yesterday. I have around a hundred pages left and although I initially LOVED IT, I seem to have reach a point where its just repeating the same thing over and over again and I find myself not really caring where Margo Roth Spiegelman is because the story is boring without her. She is the only interesting character that captures my attention. Although maybe that is the point of the whole book. Margo Roth Spiegelman is more complex than Quentin Jacobsen interprets her to be. As my friend just pointed out “she is a person not a heroine”.

FullSizeRenderI also tried to plat my hair earlier only it didn’t really work that well, which made me wish I was having a girly sleep over with a close friend, talking about books and platting each others hair. When suddenly I realised that I am in fact, an odd kind of friend.

IMG_6157I am not sure how I got here, however I am having an existential moment of wondered how it might feel to know me but not be me. A philosophy I will never have an answer too because all of my thoughts are rooted in me being me, and it is impossible for me to have a thought that is not constructed by me of whom I would not be. However it dawned on me that I rarely actually speak to the people I consider to be my “closest” friends, and therefore although I know myself relatively well and can fill in my own gaps, perhaps those gaps are filled in differently by others.

I did some research around a year ago to figure out what my ‘essence’ is up to, this task required me to ask a selection of people in my life what it is about me that they believed made me me? The most common feedback I received was “quirky”. Quirky? What even is that? I never understood what that was suppose to mean, but perhaps it is the best way to explain a mystery. Maybe that is just what happens when, without meaning to and without even realising, you keep everyone at a distance.



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