the diary of someone who never understood the world — even though he understood it well enough
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The Diary Awaiting Oblivion (ENG)the diary of someone who never understood the world — even though he understood it well enough
i sat down to sketch my life as if drafting the plot of a new story:
— sell when the dream in thai through instagram
— send the english manuscript far afield — to the uk, the us, korea, and japan
— finish the second volume by early next year
— by the year’s end, travel to china to write a philosophical book among distant villages
i pictured opening pre-orders in china — the regular price at 380, but for those willing to “support a dream not yet real,” i would sell it at 200 including shipping… they would receive the book within a month after i returned to thailand
but the question pressing on me was not how many copies would sell — it was: “how much money will i truly need to make the journey real?”
i tried to press the cost of living as low as possible: shared dorms, local food, public transport. by my estimate, 30-50 doll per day. would that be enough? is rural china really that expensive? or is poverty and wealth nothing more than the measure of an outsider’s eyes?
sometimes i dream further — buying a van, converting it myself, living with complete freedom. but laws of import are tangled and heavy… should i surrender to the system’s grip, or let the uncertainty of the road dictate the course of my life?
“is spending half a year in the countryside a waste of time?”
or is it, in truth, the act of buying time — so that i can say with full voice: “i have lived that life”
for even half a year may speak louder than a lifetime of one-week volunteer trips
i sketched a plan: three months to visit 10–20 villages, then return to them again in the following three, closing the journey like a poem that begins and ends with the same line
and so the journey would not be wasted, i want to turn it into two things:
a documentary capturing lives under a different system,
and a philosophical novel recording my own solitude
as i wrote today’s entry, i thought of the “three Gods” from a story i once composed. perhaps they are not sacred beings in the sky at all, but simply: money, time, and meaning.
we pray to money — for survival.
we pray to time — to stop its relentless pursuit.
and we pray to meaning — so that what we do will not vanish into oblivion
i asked myself again and again:
“if one day the three Gods pass judgment all at once, what will i have left in my hands?”