The cover art for Bon Iver’s self-titled LP, released 2011 I spend a great deal of time talking about how I feel and a lot of it happens in the entries that I write in my private journal. It’s usually an outpouring, a stream of consciousness I release to log my current mental state. It’s also usually sporadic and irregular—as each entry manifests from whatever strong emotion I might’ve been experiencing at that time: joy, anger, sadness, nostalgia, anything. The blobs of text are just things my fingers type out because my head has become saturated and needs a release. If I’m lucky, this happens about 9 times a month, or twice a week.
The power outages got a lot worse this month. It’s always been really poor, but this time, the timing felt so erratic that I wasn’t able to figure out a coherent pattern of when they were to give us electricity. Yesterday felt specifically horrible because power didn’t come throughout the night, and as I had taken a nap midday, I couldn’t really force myself to sleep until daybreak. And I couldn’t work either because all my electronics were dead, with the only light source coming from a dimly lit rechargeable torch I had set up on the desk in my room. So, consumed by this dimness and trademark Nigerian humidity, I began to read through all the entries I had logged in my journal.
Reading it back was interesting, especially the entries put together over 6 months ago. It was funny to see how much text I’d put down in that notebook, the way I had made a habit of logging my emotions in their entirety whenever I felt them. I read back everything: things written in anger, despair, happiness, sadness, anxiety. Everything. It’s an incredible experience observing how often one’s mind ebbs, flows, and morphs through time. But what I believe struck me the most was how ephemeral it all seemed. Somedays I was angry; some days I was sad. Somedays I was nervous, frustrated, excited, hurt, or overwhelmed. The interesting part about writing so much for such a long time is that whilst the entries are always unique because the context always differs, it reaches a point where things could feel repetitive. I said I was happy on January 21st, likewise 3 months ago in February. Just last week, I had also written that I was happy, and when the day winds down today, I will tell my journal that I am happy once again.
Today, I completed my 19th dance around the sun. Honestly, it’s great that my birthday has come around at a time when I’ve been thinking a lot about repetition, and how fleeting emotions can be. I’m also especially pleased because I have finally concluded that Holocene by Bon Iver is the best song to ever exist. It’s been lurking around my top spot for a bit now, but I can confidently say that it is the pinnacle of creative expression. And it’s not just that Justin Vernon’s falsetto is sonically ethereal, Holocene explores a theme that really excites me: ephemeral states & transitive experiences.
When Vernon cries “I was not magnificent” at the chorus, a small part of me gets lighter because a lot of what I speculate that he means ties into much of what I’ve been thinking—and in this entry writing—about. I don’t have a lot of first-hand context, and my interpretations of the song could be purely guesswork, but it does feel like he’s expressing an understanding of his relative “insignificance”, and I think that that’s really beautiful.
Humans are only around for so long, and even the grandest of lifetimes can still feel a bit meagre in the large scheme of things. It is easy to feel like a brief dot, a footnote in the history of a planet that has been around for an incredible amount of time. Still, throughout my lifetime, the chances are that I will experience all the emotions I’ve written about in my journal (though in differing contexts) again and again and again. Whether that is anger, happiness, anxiety, fear, despair, or sadness, I will feel things, and I will often feel them intensely. Vernon’s cry highlighting his insignificance is really special to me because it renders a beautiful reminder that everything is temporary. The emotions I feel will fade, and come again, and fade, until I too ultimately fade.
There’s a part of me that initially argued that this realisation or hyperawareness of how trivial a lot of things are was unhealthy to internalise, but there is a much larger part of me that believes that thinking about these things may be a positive. Vernon’s cry, and all that I have realised reading my journal, is a profound motivation for me to feel, and to do so intensely. Because our existence as humans is incredibly short, I intend to revel in those things that make me human. When the emotions are pleasant, I am going to try my hardest to feel it all, to stay in the moment and experience that warmth because I know that it will ultimately wane. Likewise, when there is angst in my chest, I will still feel it out. I intend to take it as part of my human experience while keeping in mind that despair dissipates, and that gloomy clouds fade away—like all things always do.
The power outages got a lot worse this month. It’s always been really poor, but this time, the timing felt so erratic that I wasn’t able to figure out a coherent pattern of when they were to give us electricity. Yesterday felt specifically horrible because power didn’t come throughout the night, and as I had taken a nap midday, I couldn’t really force myself to sleep until daybreak. And I couldn’t work either because all my electronics were dead, with the only light source coming from a dimly lit rechargeable torch I had set up on the desk in my room. So, consumed by this dimness and trademark Nigerian humidity, I began to read through all the entries I had logged in my journal.
Reading it back was interesting, especially the entries put together over 6 months ago. It was funny to see how much text I’d put down in that notebook, the way I had made a habit of logging my emotions in their entirety whenever I felt them. I read back everything: things written in anger, despair, happiness, sadness, anxiety. Everything. It’s an incredible experience observing how often one’s mind ebbs, flows, and morphs through time. But what I believe struck me the most was how ephemeral it all seemed. Somedays I was angry; some days I was sad. Somedays I was nervous, frustrated, excited, hurt, or overwhelmed. The interesting part about writing so much for such a long time is that whilst the entries are always unique because the context always differs, it reaches a point where things could feel repetitive. I said I was happy on January 21st, likewise 3 months ago in February. Just last week, I had also written that I was happy, and when the day winds down today, I will tell my journal that I am happy once again.
Today, I completed my 19th dance around the sun. Honestly, it’s great that my birthday has come around at a time when I’ve been thinking a lot about repetition, and how fleeting emotions can be. I’m also especially pleased because I have finally concluded that Holocene by Bon Iver is the best song to ever exist. It’s been lurking around my top spot for a bit now, but I can confidently say that it is the pinnacle of creative expression. And it’s not just that Justin Vernon’s falsetto is sonically ethereal, Holocene explores a theme that really excites me: ephemeral states & transitive experiences.
When Vernon cries “I was not magnificent” at the chorus, a small part of me gets lighter because a lot of what I speculate that he means ties into much of what I’ve been thinking—and in this entry writing—about. I don’t have a lot of first-hand context, and my interpretations of the song could be purely guesswork, but it does feel like he’s expressing an understanding of his relative “insignificance”, and I think that that’s really beautiful.
Humans are only around for so long, and even the grandest of lifetimes can still feel a bit meagre in the large scheme of things. It is easy to feel like a brief dot, a footnote in the history of a planet that has been around for an incredible amount of time. Still, throughout my lifetime, the chances are that I will experience all the emotions I’ve written about in my journal (though in differing contexts) again and again and again. Whether that is anger, happiness, anxiety, fear, despair, or sadness, I will feel things, and I will often feel them intensely. Vernon’s cry highlighting his insignificance is really special to me because it renders a beautiful reminder that everything is temporary. The emotions I feel will fade, and come again, and fade, until I too ultimately fade.
There’s a part of me that initially argued that this realisation or hyperawareness of how trivial a lot of things are was unhealthy to internalise, but there is a much larger part of me that believes that thinking about these things may be a positive. Vernon’s cry, and all that I have realised reading my journal, is a profound motivation for me to feel, and to do so intensely. Because our existence as humans is incredibly short, I intend to revel in those things that make me human. When the emotions are pleasant, I am going to try my hardest to feel it all, to stay in the moment and experience that warmth because I know that it will ultimately wane. Likewise, when there is angst in my chest, I will still feel it out. I intend to take it as part of my human experience while keeping in mind that despair dissipates, and that gloomy clouds fade away—like all things always do.