I don’t want to be famous, ever.

“I’m Nessa, Oh, I’m 20. Yea, I’m about to start my internship… heh… yes…. on June 1st. Yes, yes, I did start uni very early in life… no I didn’t really skip courses, just started early. So yea, indeed, almost ending the whole thing. excited? Well, sure, who wouldn’t be, right?. The things that are to come… yes I think I’ll just do this or maybe that…. or maybe…. you know? lets talk about something not related to school please… Well look at that, it’s raining… no, it’s not bad, I like rain, I don’t mind staying out here… huh? it’s not really weird, rain is cool if you live in a town as hot as this one…. Yes I was born here in Neiva… Oh yea that’s my little camera, Jime asked me to take some pics for her birhday. Yeah… we’re supposed to be here for her, I bet you didn’t know. No, I’m not good at taking pictures, I’d like to though….”

Silly facts… we repeat them everyday one way or the other, we meet people all the time, we wonder who they are, they wonder who you are. You tell them. They talk. They ask. You ask. Yada Yada Yada Yada Yada.

In this right moment, I’m sick of it. Sick of talking to people, but more, sick of talking to people while I’m being me. It sounds confusing. But… wouldn’t it be relieving if you could just be someone or something else for a day or two? another person, like a character of some sort. In my case, someone who is not Nessa, but some imaginary girl called Sophia or whatever, someone who does the opposite stuff than I do, so I don’t have to think about being me, and all the little facts and quirks and little repetitive insanity that gets deadly boring after years of knowing it, or thinking I do. After all, who says that what I think I know about myself is the real thing? They are just facts.

I don’t think I’m really boring as a person, but I’m surely not that interesting as to want to hang out with myself every single day for years and years hearing about the same bullshit.

I don’t mean all this in a self loathing way, at least not that bad. It’s just this weird feeling that I need a break from being me, at least for a couple of days. It’s different than “a break from my life“, it’s not my life as such what I want to escape from. It’s not stress, it’s not problems, it’s not pain, absolutely nothing is wrong right now. I had some really busy weeks and I handled it all perfectly, so really, nothing is wrong.

And I’ll probably just wake up tomorrow feeling a bit less insane. After all, tomorrow is:

HOLIDAY MONDAY, WOOHOO.

Very convincing switch of mood, isn’t it. 😉

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4 thoughts on “I don’t want to be famous, ever.

  1. Parties are done for that ms. nessa… and not for solving the problems of the world. _Light_ conversations are a consequence of that. Imagine that a person start a chat with a very deep dialogue when hardly knows wno you’re…

    Why do things the hard way? keep it simple … Enjoy things on an “AS IS” basis 😛

  2. I have nothing against small talk, nor I’d like to make every conversation a deep one. As an example of how disturbing that can become, once this girl I was talking to confessed me out of nowhere all of her inner secrets, fears, and hopes. Once that line was crossed, she was comfortable enough to also tell me she happens to have this secret wish of eating completely uncooked meat. I thought it was a joke, besides I had nowhere to go because we were cooking something for a party and she wouldn’t let me go.
    5 minutes later she says: “I’m gonna do it. You don’t mind, do you? Please don’t tell anyone.” and then she proceeded to eat some of the uncooked meat there was in the kitchen. Apparently she was completely sober too.
    So, for strangers, please nothing deep; small talk, always small talk.
    However, small talk is not what this is post is about. I can do small talk, and I can enjoy it to an extent. This post was about me being too sick of myself to find it bearable to hear my own mouth talk about the same shit one more time.
    But it was just a state of mind, and as I said it would happen, I woke up a bit less insane this morning.

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