Everything is up for grabs ⏳

I was wondering why I was procrastinating again, or what I was even supposed to make progress on.

I was always told that personalities are static; every jump of age retains the same base elements. But when I try to apply this, I can’t latch onto anything. However much I observed my classmates, friends between grades, coworkers and family, avatars populating my screen, customers insisting it must be this way: I can’t latch onto anything at all.

Which sounds absurd of course. Of course you’ll still see some semblance of stasis pop up in orders: he always gets a 40 pack of nuggets and honey. Stubbornness always suggests that, of course, these people I’m interfacing with are the same as yesterday and many days before.

Still, all I see is everyone morphing around. Good long friends for many years flipped in a fortnight, or through a college year poison, and suddenly one day you walked into an ultimatum. The stubbornness surely seems to build through the years, but I only see how with each jump of age one leaves behind a silhouette. Made of whatever fragments forgotten, passing by strawberry milk. What decides the composition?

I was also told about how the arbitrary is the divine, the only redeemable aspect of existence. It’s the arbitrary which frees us. After all, it determines one’s aesthetics, way of life. Many things happen just by chance, like writing here.

And you can’t ask “why” after a certain point. It just is. Whether it be beautiful or revolting, at the fundamental, It Just Is to you. But I can’t help and ask what’s weaving these preferences and personality? However arbitrarily you decided to make an account here, so one waits for the arbitrary end. Is this in the hands of God then?

I guess my answer is that it’s all up for grabs, probably. We’re no different: I could adorn this website in sparkly hot pink for a most flamboyant display. You could also delete yours and pretend none of this existed. It’s all thoughts down the chain, passed on and waiting to be discarded or traded depending on experiences.

In a single footstep decision you could perceive a whole different world. Instead of being the tortured soul one could wake up as the librarian, or the artisan, good friend. All it takes is going out-of-bounds for a moment and rearranging the entire play in your head. Or letting something above reconfigure your path for a more preferable walk.

Stagnation is clinging too hard to something that was meant to be let go, is what I say. Instead one may become the professional wall-starer and delight in its grooves, set records for many hours before snoozing and some molasses moving into a portal for a whole silhouette discard. After all, the opposite of stagnation is an unrecognizable world: everything is swapped and the record plays again, whether staccato or clipping between time segments for a fourth dimensional existence, waiting for a fifth dimensional whisper that perhaps it’s okay to change once more.

It’s hard to invalidate either claim, that personalities are perpetual and that the arbitrary is unknowable: but one can at least intentionally become unrecognizable. Whether ordained from the imprinted personality birth or the arbitrary divinity driving every existence.