When I washed my hair at night, I noticed that my fingers moved through it as though I had still had long hair. Trying to concentrate on here-and-now, I happened to find myself still recalling when I let my hair grow pretty long. It might show that I missed that time, but I do remember that I had a bitter feeling over my hair as it almost never looked the way I wished. Somehow, nevertheless, I felt glad that my body made me realise that I still remembered that it meant something to myself. Maybe it was because it told me in some way that I do not need to deny the significance of that time; the time when I seek to simultaneously accept and deny my deep lust for being verified by the world. It ended up leaving me with a deep sense of discomfort, which eventually got merged with lukewarm numbness in which I, without being aware of it, chose to give up becoming what I originally was. There should have been me that put on whatever I like and speak whatever I would like to, but I have little clue as to what it would look and live like. I think I am coming to a stage where I have to face what I did not allow myself to feel when the giving up had been taking place, rather than what I really am. I was used to try to capture the latter, but it feels like that it is not central to my current needs somehow.

The anger and frustration I had against my girlfriend suddenly subsided yesterday. A sense of serenity struck me when I thought to myself that if I expected her to change her attitude and behaviour, encouraged her to rectify them by giving her an explanation of my needs, and she did not fulfil that expectation and kept behaving as she did, I should reconsider my approach to her. No matter how convinced I was in terms of the validity and justifiability of my opinion, I could not make her change or respond to me if it does not fit the circumstances. Maybe I should recapture my relationship with her as something in which I have a chance to find keys to radical healing of my psychological wounds. I should tell myself again and again that it is not about her not recognising her own issues, but rather about me being given clues as to what I ought to face with my fucking guts.