On Random Thoughts

I wonder how I’m supposed to keep blogging everyday with this much work.

Ok, just kidding. Of course I can blog. That’s just another excuse.

Today, I have been assigned with writing 2 papers. I don’t remember exactly what was said in the class, but a couple of words have been ringing in my ear: cohesiveness and random thoughts.

Do I have to point out which of the word is “good” and which is “bad”? I don’t think I have to do that.

As soon as my teacher said, “The paper must appear to be cohesive, not consisted of random thoughts”, I immediately thought of my blog, which has its own category named, well, “random thoughts”. As anyone (um, I) can see, that is what my blog is entirely consisted of: random thoughts. Even just one post looks as if it is made up of clouds of random thoughts that I have loosely stitched together. After I felt like I’ve delivered my point, I hit the “enter” button and move on.

I suppose this explains why I like reading Ernest Hemingway’s work, even though I would always claim that I hate reading or I don’t read. Have you read a dialogue between the characters in one of his books? It’s so non-cohesive and ridiculously terse, even for me. I remember reading finishing the last pages of A Farewell to Arms. (Spoiler Alert) I don’t think much was written after the protagonist’s lover died after giving birth, but it was short, bitter, and immensely powerful- so powerful that it made me felt really hallow from just reading something like never before.

Even though I like to be terse like Hemingway, I have a long way to go to achieve his level of poignancy. I doubt if I would get there, which made me like this author even more. Not to mention that he has written a few books that took place in Spain. I read The Sun Also Rises last year. My teacher said that it has nothing really happened, just a bunch of people drinking and wandering around, but I loved the book. Honestly, I like the protagonist’s lifestyle. It would be nice to live such a carefree life. The protagonist reminds me a bit of Hemingway’s life, I suppose. They both had traveled to and fro, but they didn’t find “something” worthwhile or meaningful at the end. Not to mention that Hemingway committed suicide. It made me wander that about the point of traveling. What if I go and don’t find that “something”, which is something I don’t know what it is in the first place? To be honest, I am scared of ending up like Hemingway and his protagonists. Not suicide, though, I think Hemingway did what he did because of all of the terrors of wars that he had witness.

Another teacher said that he doubted that I would like reading Hemingway’s books since there are so much “masculine” things: drinking, wars, prostitutes/sex, and more wars… but those are the exact reasons why I like his books. I suppose my looks, manners, and temperament seem to suggest that I like topics that are opposite of what I’ve mentioned.


What is seen from the outside is deceiving. More on this later.



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